Life Support
by SUITELIFEFAN
Summary: Everyone has dreams of an ideal future, with a good career and a tightly knit group of friends. Little did Kyle know that his "ideal" was far more literal than he had ever originally intended. A (hopefully) heartwarming yet pragmatic story about the realities of adult life. Reviews greatly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Life Support - Chapter 1**

The shrill ringing of the alarm clock on the bedside table cut through the silence of the bedroom with unrestrained vehemence. Kyle Broflovski was shaken out of his slumber by the deafening singular pitch, the sound seemingly amplified by a thousandfold on this very morning. Wincing in pain, Kyle hugged his head in his arms as he tried not to scream at the feeling of a wooden spike being driven between his neural hemispheres.

This was, by far, the worst hangover ever.

Faintly grasping for his blanket, Kyle kept his eyes firmly shut, knowing that he had probably forgotten to close his curtains last night and that uninvited sunlight was probably streaming indiscriminately into his room, ready to flood and simultaneously destroy his fragile retinas. As he felt desperately for the inconsiderate clock, his fingers made contact with its cold metal before accidentally pushing it off the edge of the table, sending it tumbling to the ground. It didn't stop ringing.

Kyle swore loudly in the confines of his own bedroom as he turned to his side. Placing his feet gently on the ground, he forgot about his eyes for a single second, and by instinct, opened them.

The lobotomy had begun.

"Sonofabitch!"

Stringing together a series of choice swear words that his mother would have instantly grounded him for if he had been ten years younger and still living with her, Kyle found the silver lining in his dying cone cells and quickly identified the location of the clock on the ground. Snatching it savagely from the ground, he shut off the blaring alarm and tossed the clock at his bed, sending it bouncing innocently onto his pillow. Gritting his teeth as he took a few painful steps forward, Kyle reached for the curtains and pulled them shut.

Silence and darkness had never felt more welcome.

Kyle had known that his alcohol tolerance wasn't exactly the best in the world, but the exact extent of his social handicap had apparently been lost in the extended length of time he had spent away from the substance and the celebrations of the previous night. His excuse to his diabetes-weakened liver was valid: his adopted little brother had returned to South Park after his first year in college for his summer break, and the Broflovski family welcomed him back with open arms and a tiny celebration with beer and kosher food. Kyle's liver had taken the excuse in stride, however somebody had apparently forgotten to notify his head of the potential intoxication, judging by the dull pounding interspersed with sharp pains that ran through his skull.

Dragging himself fitfully to the bathroom, Kyle pushed his curly orange-red hair out of his eyes. His favorite green ushanka, a memento from his childhood, lay quietly at the back of his closet. As Kyle silently considered the implications of calling in sick to work for the day, a feeling of panic hit him straight in the gut, a feeling that was most decidedly _not _lingering nausea from the previous night. As he hastily checked the date on his watch, Kyle groaned in exasperation.

There was no way he could call in sick to work even if he wanted to.

Laboratory schedules were as competitive as entry to some university fraternities, and Kyle had booked the entire functional genomics laboratory at the South Park Institute of Research for the week to complete his most recent experiment. The work would need one hundred percent effort, and if he were to not show up at the laboratory for any reason whatsoever, he could almost guarantee that his laboratory time slots would be permanently gifted to another result-hungry biologist working at the facility.

In the exclusive yet viciously competitive world of biological research, there was no way Kyle could afford for that to happen.

Cringing with every step, Kyle began the painful process of getting ready for work, starting with a well deserved and necessary pop of aspirin.

* * *

"You have no idea how glad I am to bump into you, Butters. Seriously, I can't thank you enough for this."

The steering wheel in front of him, coupled with Leopold 'Butters' Stotch's insistence on vehicular safety, were probably the only things stopping the almost eternally joyful manchild from throwing his arms around his friend in happiness.

"Aw shucks, that's no problem at all, Kyle! I'm just happy to see you, we haven't talked in a long time!"

Butters' happiness was infectious, even to a hungover and almost persistently uptight Jew. Kyle couldn't help but return his old friend's smile. Even after many years of misfortune, brought about primarily by his parents kicking him out of the house due to his homosexuality and a sadly unreciprocated love, Butters had carried his childhood practice of happiness and goodness into adulthood. His ability to find a silver lining in the midst of every thundercloud was ironically a deterrent in him finding more close friends due to the innately untrusting nature of the majority of people in the town, but Kyle had always admired his old friend for that very talent that made him the "Butteriest Butters" that he knew.

"Yes, we haven't. I'm really sorry about that, its just that things have been so busy at the research facility, its hard to find time for anything else."

"Aw, shucks, Kyle! There's no need to apologise! I'm just glad you're doing well at your job! It's super cool that I have a genius scientist for a friend!"

The smile thrown in Kyle's direction brightened his mood exponentially, alongside the compliment, which sounded so confident and positive that it made him blush slightly.

"...I'm not a genius."

"Well sure you are! Shucks, Kyle, you don't have to be so modest. You were the smartest kid in the class back when we were all kids, remember?"

As his mind glazed past what he recalled was happening in Butters' life since the last time they had talked, Kyle felt somewhat guilty for alienating himself from his friends. Whilst he would have liked for an ideal group of friends as mirrored in popular American sitcoms, reality, with its brutal honesty, had thrown multiple wrenches in the friendships that Kyle had spent his childhood nurturing. He still remained in contact with a sparse number of his childhood buddies, and proper meetups were even more sparse, thanks to Kyle's budding career and the tiny excuses he made to himself whenever somebody from his past asked to meet up.

As he tried to remember what his momentary savior had mentioned during their last encounter, an important detail stood out. A detail that he couldn't believe he had forgotten in the first place.

Kyle was, as far as he was aware of, the only other person besides his parents that Butters' had come out to.

Kyle was surprised at being Butters' confidant regarding his sexuality, especially when considering that the two boys had never been best friends, albeit being relatively close for a period of their lives years back. Butters' reasons for his decision were well thought out. As childhood friends moved away from South Park to pursue their dreams, Kyle had been one of the few that had stayed behind, and the only remaining one that Butters' regarded as trustworthy and relatively non-judgmental. Eric Cartman had disappeared off the South Park radar for a long time, and even if he had been around, he would have never been an active choice. The other boys of South Park Elementary back in the day used to pick on him, and were therefore out of the question. The girls would have ensured that his coming out would become the hottest gossip in the town within the next day.

Kenny McCormick was completely out of the question, for blindingly obvious reasons.

"So...how are you and Kenny doing?"

Kyle's innocent probing into Butters' life appeared to have touched a nerve, as the seemingly permanent smile on Butters' face faltered for a split second.

"Huh? What do you mean, Kyle? There's nothing going on between me and Kenny. Nothing's changed."

And therein lay the problem.

* * *

Snatching a fresh lab coat from the rack of newly sterilised lab gear, Kyle approached the genomics laboratory and pressed his employee's pass onto the electronic card scanner affixed on the side of the glass door. Upon hearing it beep in affirmation, Kyle gave the door a strong push, the smell of formaldehyde used to disinfect the laboratory surfaces instantly snapping him into work mode.

South Park's only research facility, BioSPolis, was set up whilst Kyle was still in high school. The effort made by the city council to place South Park on the map as a research hub turned out, against all expectations, to be the most successful venture ever conceived by the town's substandard city council and inept mayor. The facility put South Park in the spotlight for something that was beneficial to the country, a contrast from its prior reputation as a redneck town and disaster magnet.

The setting up of the facility was the only reason Kyle had decided to return to the town after graduating early from college. A budding scientist needed an outlet, and Kyle's innate Messiah Complex drew him, against his initial plans, back into his laid back "quiet mountain town", with the dream that he would be the scientific savior of a town that seemed doomed to eternal mediocrity.

"Project Code: 0149. Date: 1st of July, 2018. Time: 9:07am. Project Status: Classified."

Kyle threw a quick glance onto the wall-mounted audio recorder in the room to confirm that it was recording the sound of his voice before returning to his experimental setup.

"This is Kyle Broflovski's experiment on functional genomics, day one of experimental phase. This recording is being taken from the genomics laboratory of BioSPolis. All documentation from here on out is confidential property of aforementioned researcher until indication is given otherwise."

Speaking to himself had been an activity that he had to get used to when he first started work at the facility, which made yet another surprisingly good policy when it declared that all researchers were to take down consistent documentation of their work in progress to ensure proof of their endeavors, in the highly likely possibility of other scientists staking claims on similar projects first. Kyle had initially felt silly speaking loudly to an empty room, but eventually found the documentation process somewhat liberating, especially when he played back recordings of his own work to check for discrepancies.

As he set up the machine for microarray analysis, Kyle absentmindedly found himself speaking to no one in particular, setting the tone for yet another serious yet snarkily comical monologue, recordings that his superiors had gained much amusement out of in the past as they heard their youngest charge divulge the inner workings of his mind without restraint.

"Finally...I've managed to book time in this infernal lab. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to gain access to this damn place? This facility is huge, but it has only one functional genomics laboratory. Fucking horseshit, people. Allocate your money better."

The recorder continued to beep at a steady rhythm as it took down all of Kyle's harmless ranting.

"Did I just swear into official documentation? That's right. That was probably the most badass thing I've done since I was in high school, so don't mind me. I might be a professional, but I'm allowed to be badass too, right? This is a redneck town, after all. Well, since all this ranting is going to be edited out later by you bureaucrats later I don't suppose you lot will mind me speaking my mind about some things. If I were to be honest, this recording is the only intelligent conversation I can get out of anyone these days."

Kyle carefully extracted his pre-prepared sample of spliced DNA and loaded it into the machine. His voice switched effortlessly between mindlessness and professionalism.

"DNA sample one is being loaded into the microarray sequencing machine for initial testing. Will proceed with PCR if sample size proves to be insufficient."

Biting thoughtfully onto his lip, Kyle shook his curly red hair out of his eyes as he brought up his self-designed data collection spreadsheet on his laptop.

"I'll have to be honest, I'm still slightly hungover from last night. I know scientists don't usually spend nights chugging alcohol, but my little brother just came home from college, so sue me. It was nothing special, really, just us two and our dad mindlessly emptying a few cans of beer in my childhood home whilst my mother prepared food in the kitchen. Kosher, of course. If Judaism had forbidden alcohol, I still think my family would have partaken in it. Especially myself, since I don't really practice Judaism anymore. My mother would have a heart attack if she found that out about her little bubbe."

He swallowed.

"I'm not sure how much you people edit out of these recordings, but cut out that last bit, please. That was somewhat embarrassing. I'm bringing up old data from a few months back on my computer now. Will proceed with comparative analysis as I wait for the machine to return results."

Kyle took a tentative sip from a glass of Mountain Dew (checking carefully if he had confused it with some lethal chemical) to quench his thirst as he waited for his laggy computer to open the file.

"You know what, I'm actually somewhat glad I'm doing this. Sure, it's still a little ridiculous that I have to speak everything that I'm doing, but it keeps the atmosphere in here active. I knew what I was getting into when I decided on this path, and I know it's thanks to my own decisions that I'm busy all the time, but hey, at least I'm doing something meaningful."

He pursed his lips.

"Something...meaningful…"

Closing his eyes, Kyle allowed himself to be immersed in the peaceful solitude of the laboratory as he waited for the machine to finish its work.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- Welcome to Life Support. I have big plans for this story (which is supposed to be a comparative reflection of idealised life and reality), though how far I manage to go about completing it will depend on factors in my own life that are not entirely under my control. I absolutely adore South Park, and I'm glad for this opportunity to tell a story of my own conception based around these characters. Stick around, and I do apologise if my manner of storytelling is too complex. It's sometimes difficult to properly leash the idea monkeys wrecking havoc in my head.

Reviews appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN


	2. Chapter 2

**Life Support - Chapter 2**

"Kyle? Kyle Broflovski?"

The sound of his name uttered in a mellifluous soprano, an event completely unexpected in a workplace where everyone was usually left to their own devices, surprised Kyle to the extent that he dropped the remnants of the sandwich that he had been absent-mindedly chewing back onto his plate in shock. Whipping his head around in the direction of the voice, the sight that greeted his eyes caused him to instinctively rise from his seat in mild alarm.

The soft pair of eyes that gazed back at him crinkled in amusement at his comical reaction to their presence.

"Geez, Kyle, talk about an overreaction. I didn't know you were still hanging around Tweek Tweak."

"...Wendy? Wendy Testaburger?"

The brunette nodded her head gently, her flowing bangs swishing from side to side. She looked just like how Kyle would have expected her to look, having maintained a significant degree of youthfulness from her childhood in her present visage. After twenty-odd years of life, Kyle had still never met a person his age who could look simultaneously vigilant and comfortably relaxed as Wendy Testaburger. Her current stance reflected the past perfectly.

"I didn't expect to see you here, I thought you would have left this tiny town after college."

"Likewise."

Kyle extended his hand for a polite handshake, only for the young lady in front of him to fold her arms disapprovingly.

"A handshake, Kyle? Really?"

Kyle's momentary chagrin at his rejected greeting was overcome by surprise as Wendy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in an affectionate hug.

"It's been a long time, Kyle. I've missed you."

Kyle had no idea if she was just being polite, especially considering that the two had never been exceptionally close as children, with the exception of the one time when they were paired up to raise an egg as a child for a week. Kyle, however, was gentlemanly enough to not reject the sentiment. After a moment of hesitation, he returned the hug with the appropriate amount of fervor.

"Do you have any company here? Or would you like to join me for lunch?"

Wendy grinned at the redhead's earnest civility.

"Well, it's my first day working here, so no, I don't have any company as of yet. And yes, I would love to have lunch with you. Would you recommend anything?"

"I'd recommend that you don't order this sandwich."

The unexpected company was a fresh change from the solitude that Kyle had been used to during his mealtimes at the facility's cafeteria. Though their initial meeting had began with an inevitable degree of awkwardness, Wendy's larger-than-life personality eased Kyle out of his usual protective bubble of polite silence. Within minutes of her taking her seat with a bowl of noodles, the pair was chatting as though no time had passed since they had last met.

Kyle's brain worked hastily to remember everything he could about his old friend and new colleague. A fresh graduate of Cambridge University, Wendy had taken a year off before starting college to campaign for women's rights alongside Sheila Broflovski. Kyle wondered why his mother had never mentioned the girl's presence amidst her group of power-hungry feminists.

"I had a great time in the UK, but I actually started to _miss_ South Park. Can you believe it? I had spent the entirety of middle school and high school just waiting for the chance to leave this place, and the moment I step out of my comfort zone I find myself drawn back in."

Kyle nodded his head in understanding as he sipped his cola.

"That sounds exactly like what happened to me. I wouldn't have come back if this facility hadn't been set up, though. It actually gave me a little faith that this town was willing to at least try to better itself."

"Really? I mean, I know this town isn't exactly the poster child for normalcy, but-"

Kyle couldn't help but interrupt Wendy's comment with a hearty chuckle, an action that Wendy smirked appreciatively at.

"-but there's still a lot more worth coming back for, isn't there? After all, we've spent our entire childhoods in this place."

Wendy's comment stirred slight discomfort within Kyle, a feeling that he struggled to push down.

"Perhaps."

"So how's everyone doing?"

Kyle swallowed nervously at her question, having a sense of what the conversation was inevitably going towards.

"Well...Kenny's still job-hopping between restaurants, car service places...basically anywhere that'll take his work. Butters owns his own florist, and he manages the entire business. Other than those two...I'm not really in active contact with anyone else from school."

The look of stupefaction that Wendy shot his way at that moment would have been comical if the situation had been leaning even one degree towards comedy. Unfortunately for Kyle, there appeared to be zero avenues for humor at that very moment, a single bead of nervous perspiration edging itself past his temple despite the chill from the air conditioning of the cafeteria.

"I think I misheard you, Kyle."

"Oh, right." Kyle tried his best to smile, but could only achieve an awkward grimace. "I haven't seen our favourite fatass in a long time. He pretty much disappeared from South Park after high school. Butters said that he went off to join the military, but knowing his personality I highly doubt that. Personally I think its a relief that he's not around anymore. He gave me grief about being jewish all the way through high school, who knows if he'd still keep up that kind of-"

"Kyle, I'm sorry to interrupt you, and pardon my french, but I couldn't give two shits about the fate of that obese, bigoted, sexist excuse of a human being."

Kyle didn't know whether to laugh or cringe at Wendy's statement.

"You and I both know that you're avoiding a particular topic, Kyle."

Kyle's heart fell into the pit of despair from which it had previously been hanging above.

"...you caught onto that, did you?"

"Kyle."

Wendy pursed her lips disapprovingly, looking so much like Sheila Broflovski that Kyle nearly threw himself onto the ground right there and then to beg for her mercy and forgiveness.

"What about Stan?"

* * *

At the tender age of twenty-two, Stanley Marsh had emerged from complete obscurity and the shadows of infamous South Park, stepping into the spotlight of middle-to-high society with a profession of flair that had existed since the early nineteenth century. It was a job that, whilst well-paying and fulfilling for an artistic soul, surprised nearly everyone in Stan's life when he informed them of his aspirations.

He wanted to be a concert pianist.

The reaction that he garnered from his parents upon sharing his ambition was as juxtaposed as yin and yang. Randy Marsh, clinging on to the hopes that his son would one day become a famous athlete, immediately denounced his ten-year-old son's dream with unrestrained vehemence, bringing up a multitude of sexist and homophobic arguments that brought his adolescent son close to tears in anger and hurt. Sharon Marsh had defended her young son's dream with unparalleled fervor, encouraging him to strive towards his goals and shouting down her husband whenever he begrudged the fact that Stan was "turning more queer" with every touch of the old upright piano that rested in their living room. Young Stanley's passion for classical music threw a rift between the couple, leading to strained family dinners and weekends where Randy would choose to go to the bar and drown himself in his "sorrows" instead of spending his time off work with his family.

Eventually, Sharon's advocacy of following one's dreams beat out Randy's bigotry towards the classical arts. After years of consistent practice alongside his schoolwork, Stan finally found the courage and confidence to apply for entry to the Juilliard School, America's premier college for the arts. Thirteen year old Stanley Marsh made his way across the country to audition for a place in the prestigious school. The entry audition yielded a result that far surpassed everything that he had desired from the trip to New York City.

The balding music professor auditioning him rose from his chair upon Stan's completion of his rendition of Liszt's Gnomenreigen, strode to the door and promptly left the room without saying a word. As Stan and Sharon exchanged confused glances, the man reentered with a conga line of his colleagues, all looking very surprised to see a mere thirteen-year-old sitting at their grand piano.

"Young man, if I might trouble you…"

Stan, at this point a little intimidated by the size of the veritable crowd that had entered the room, looked at the professor in trepidation.

"...could you play something else from your repertoire?"

The teenager bit his lip nervously.

"I could...play a little Chopin for you."

The professor smiled in approval.

And play he did. By the end of the Chopin's second Scherzo, Stan had left the entire room of music teaching staff from Juilliard School a performance to remember. History, as one of the awestruck teachers had blurted out at the end of Stan's performance, was made on that very day.

Stan was on the springboard to musical celebrity. The only thing he had to do was to take the advice of the veterans sitting in that very room.

Forget Juilliard. Don't go to college.

After studying on pianist apprenticeships with a plethora of musical geniuses across the country, Stan Marsh finally made his name at his first concert showcase, an invited "young prodigy" at Carnegie Hall. The event was attended by honoured guests of the maestro under whom Stan had been studying at that point in his musical education, guests of which included talent bookies, Broadway alumni, a considerable number of experienced pianists and Stan's friends and family from South Park.

As Stan nervously tugged at his black lapel suit jacket, he paced around backstage, wondering if he was making a terrible mistake. In spite of the towering ceiling and the massive size of the famous concert hall, Stan couldn't help but feel claustrophobic as he pictured the walls closing in on him, possibly killing him and all of the guests seated in the audience waiting for the show to start. Just as Stan was about to rip out his ebony black hair, a voice diverted his attention, speaking in a tone that was far too matter-of-factly for Stan's present state of mind.

"If you sweat any more, Stan, you're going to have to change out of that shirt."

Stan bit his lip and frowned at the redhead seated amidst a collection of old percussion instruments that had been left behind from a previous performance. The look that the boy was throwing him was tinged with both amusement and genuine concern.

"Thanks a lot. I'm about to sweat out my dinner right here and now, and my _best friend_ can only sit there and scoff at my anxiety."

Stan's jitters were affecting his tone, making his words angrier and more caustic than he had intended, in turn causing Kyle's face to fall, the content grin wiped off his face in an instant. As Stan watched his overly sensitive Jewish friend fiddle wistfully with his thumbs, he groaned in exasperation.

"Good grief. I didn't mean that, Kyle. I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry." Kyle immediately rose to his feet and strode purposefully to his anxious friend. "I haven't exactly been a very good best friend. Here you are about to do something that puts you under a load of pressure, and I'm just sitting here making quips."

"Are you kidding me? What kind of friend would bother to fly all the way from Colorado to New York just for a single concert? What kind of friend would bother to sneak backstage to be here for his friend in a time of need? By the way, you've really got to tell me how you did that. Security here's supposed to be notoriously tight."

Kyle sniggered.

"Don't worry about me. I'm a sneaky little Jew, remember?"

The friends shared chuckles at Kyle's impromptu impression of their frenemy.

"Listen, Stan...I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you."

"Aw, thanks Kyle. That really-"

"Wait, Stan, let me finish."

Kyle swallowed, knowing that what he was about to say would be unbearably cheesy, but knowing that he had to say it anyway.

"I just can't believe how far you've come, man. I mean, we both come from this small redneck town in Colorado. Just...just look at you now, Stan. You've achieved so much at such a young age and...I just can't wait to tell people I meet in the future that my super best friend is Stanley Marsh, the greatest pianist of our generation."

Stan stayed silent as Kyle struggled to find his words.

"You might be feeling nervous now, but you and I both know that you're going to blow everyone away with some kickass performance out there. I watched you practice from day to night back home for years, Stan. I can't even begin to describe the amount of faith I have in you."

Kyle started to choke back words as he struggled to maintain an even tone.

"I just can't help but feel a little worried, y'know. This piano thing is going to bring you all around the world...sometimes I wonder if you'll eventually forget about the rest of us. You're going to meet a lot of new people and see a lot of different places, and I'm just..."

He hastily wiped away a single tear that had emerged from his eye.

"I'm just really scared that I'll lose you."

Before any awkward silence could begin to emerge from the heartwarming, albeit sad situation, Stan wrapped his arms around his best friend's torso and squeezed, all his prior nervousness about his performance forgotten. He then tenderly pressed his lips to Kyle's forehead in a platonic but affectionate gesture of friendship. There was no need for further words of comfort or reassurance.

Minutes passed before Kyle began to speak, his words muffled by Stan's suit jacket.

"This is so gay."

Stan chuckled warmly as he tousled his friend's red hair fondly.

"Way to ruin the moment, asshole."

The duo split apart at the sound of voices, undoubtedly the stage managers coming to inform Stan that his performance was about to begin. Kyle unwrapped his arms from around Stan reluctantly.

"I should go back to my seat before they catch me here."

"Yeah...you should."

"Kill it out there. For me."

Stan smiled.

"For you, Kyle."

On that very night, Stanley Marsh, at a mere fifteen years, made musical history with a legendary performance setlist of Rachmaninoff, Liszt and Chopin, a perfectly crafted repertoire that brought the audience to tears, ecstasy and awe in a single evening. Yet, even as Stan stood from the grand piano after the completion of his encore piece, he didn't care for the multitude of talent bookies and musicians cheering from the audience. He didn't care for the fact that he was receiving a standing ovation in one of the world's most famous musical venues. He didn't care that his father didn't approve of his life choices, or that there were people back home who looked down on him for pursuing his dreams.

He only cared for the front row. His mother, standing stock still with proud tears streaming in rivets from her eyes. Next to her, a Jewish boy one entire head shorter than himself, bouncing on his tiptoes in utter excitement and pride.

That was all fifteen-year-old Stanley Marsh needed.

* * *

It had been a long day.

Kyle Broflovski searched his pockets wearily for his house keys. As he fiddled with the lock, fresh memories of the encounter he had had with Wendy Testaburger flooded back into his head. As far as meetings with people one haven't seen in a long time went, their meeting arguably left much to be desired. Kyle silently hoped that future brushes with his childhood friend, which would very likely occur with greater frequency now that she was working at the facility, would be less awkward.

He didn't mind thinking about the past. Memories of the past, however, were his own.

Kyle didn't want to share them with anyone else.

Kyle had never been much of a drinker, but the tensions of the day proved to be reason enough for him to partially dull his senses with alcohol. As he reached tentatively into his fridge to extract an untouched bottle of vodka, his phone vibrated assiduously in his pocket. Upon checking its display, he realised that a new email, one that seemed coincidentally apt for the day, had arrived in his inbox.

Kyle's eyes widened as he read its title.

"Stan Marsh is coming to Denver!"

Kyle, longing for contact with his old friend, had subscribed to his website's email update service, which would inform him of upcoming concert dates and news about the young pianist. After years of waiting, it seemed that Stan was finally making a visit to the state that had raised him. Kyle had always wondered if Stan apparent evasion of his home state had anything to do with a particularly nasty episode that had occurred between them.

There was undoubtedly bitterness that still lingered from incidents past, but there was no denying that Kyle missed this particular part of his childhood. Kyle carefully placed the bottle of vodka back into the fridge and shut it. Switching on his laptop, he quickly loaded up Stan's website and checked for concert dates, knowing that he had to be quick.

Tickets for Stan Marsh's concerts sold out notoriously fast for an artist so invested in classical music.

Picking an ideal date, Kyle's finger hovered hesitantly over his left mouse button as he pondered the implications of his decision.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- This story really is a challenge to proceed onwards with. I designed it with Kyle as the focal point throughout the entirety of the plot, but whether or not I'll decide to stray from that decision will depend on how I feel about the text as I plod steadily onwards.

Reviews appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Life Support - Chapter 3**

_Flashback_

It had started off with a seemingly innocent invitation on Stan's part to come over and watch a movie. Kyle had asked if Cartman and Kenny were invited as well. Stan claimed that he had already asked them. The group's redheaded Jew then put on a comfortable set of clothes before making his way to his super best friend's house, looking forward to what he assumed was going to be a typical argument over horror versus action followed by a compromise between the two. Popcorn, warm blankets, and occasional bigotry from the resident fatass. Just a typical movie night.

Which was why Kyle Broflovski was surprised when he arrived at Stan Marsh's place only for his best friend to stammer out excuses for the absence of the other half of their party and sit himself down on his piano chair, visibly sweating in abject nervousness. Kyle couldn't detect a single whiff of melted butter, or any sound of popcorn popping in the microwave. When he finally asked Stan what was going on, Stan looked up from the very interesting portion of floor he had been analysing and spoke in a very small voice.

"I just learned something new...I was hoping you'd be the first to hear it."

It was the first time Stan had asked anyone outside his family to listen to him play, and the first time Kyle was about to hear something from Stan beyond a few detached bars of music. After nodding bemusedly at Stan's anxiety and sitting himself down comfortably on the Marsh's family couch, Kyle sat up straight so as to respect the supposed gravity of the situation in Stanley's mind. The poor boy was at that point so frazzled by the presence of his best friend that he wiped his hands fervently on a handkerchief before the start of his small-scale showcase, so as not to get his sweat on the ivory keys.

"This one's the hardest I've ever learnt, so..please, _please_ understand."

Kyle nodded and smiled encouragingly.

Taking in a deep breath, Stan placed both hands on his most treasured belonging and started the musical journey.

Chopin's first Ballade.

Kyle had never been an avid listener of western classical music. His adolescent playlist consisted mainly of whatever was on the pop charts of the day, and nothing really beyond that. He had always stereotypically regarded classical music to be for rich folk in England, busy with their crumpets and scones and whatever pastries the British were known to eat as they sipped tea and played polo.

The beauty of the sound that Stan was making from the instrument completely intrigued and enthralled him.

The piece started off with solemn passages, driving into tumultuousness and leading forth into crystal clear simplicity. It seemed to be driven on pure emotion, jumping quickly yet elegantly between joy and anger multiple times, to the point where Kyle could feel himself hanging on every last note at the edge of his seat, wondering where the melody would go next. As he watched Stan's fingers leaping almost effortlessly off the keys, eleven-year-old Kyle found himself consumed by raucous thoughts.

Never did he imagine that he could be completely captivated by a sound made by an instrument that was hundreds of years old, without electronic enhancement or even any vocal accompaniment. Never did he imagine that he could sit for ten straight minutes on a couch without moving a muscle. Never did he imagine that his best friend in the whole world could create music as beautiful as what he had just heard.

Storytelling with sound.

As Stan let the final note resonate off into silence, he breathed a huge sigh of relief, looking considerably less nervous than before. The smile that he threw Kyle from atop his piano seat was simultaneously eager and hesitant. Stan removed his hands off the ivory keys on his family's upright piano and turned to Kyle for his opinion.

"Woah."

Kyle struggled to get himself level-headed enough to even respond to his friend's obvious need for feedback. His throat was dry after nearly forgetting to swallow throughout the entirety of Stan's miniature performance.

"Dude…"

Stan, confidence shaken by his father's endless ranting about his supposedly effeminate hobby and the general stupidity of their little mountain town, immediately allowed pessimism to win over as he looked down at the piano keys.

"Shit...I didn't think I was _that_ bad."

Kyle raised an eyebrow, unable to believe that Stan's confidence was so bad that even a slightly delayed response from a friend had him jumping to conclusions about his musical ability. The fact that he was feeling upset after what Kyle thought was an _incredible_ performance made the situation seem even more ridiculous to him.

"It was great, dude. Like, really really great. I never thought that piano music could sound so...dreamily elegant."

Stan allowed himself a small smile before turning back huffily towards his piano and gathering up his sheet music from the music stand, sheet music which he didn't actually touch or look at for the entirety of the piece.

"You're just saying that. I missed obvious notes, and some of the phrasing was off. There was nothing good about it."

"Ok, you're going to have to meet me halfway here, Stan. I just said it was great. I _meant_ it. Hey…"

Kyle then placed a hand on Stan's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Stan looked up and caught sight of Kyle's green eyes, still brimming from what he had just heard a minute ago. Having known the boy since a time when they were far too young to remember anything, Stan could immediately tell when Kyle was telling the truth by looking into his eyes.

"I _loved_ it, Stan."

Stan finally grinned, convinced that his friend wasn't blowing smoke up his ass to make him feel better.

"Did you really like it?"

"Dude, I don't know shit about classical music, but I somehow enjoyed every single second of that. How in the...how the hell did you manage to do that? What song is that anyway?"

The musician in Stan cringed a little at Kyle's innocent question, a slight taboo in the world of western classical music.

"It's not a song, Kyle. A song has words, that one didn't."

"You're getting all technical on me again, Stan."

"It's a Ballade. Chopin practically pioneered this musical form and inspired many others after him to explore it. This one was Chopin's first, and is one of his favourite works."

Ordinarily, Kyle would have done something rude, like pretend to snore upon hearing Stan's fervent exposition on an art form that only he partook in. Today, however, called for a vividly different conduct. Kyle slid carefully onto the piano seat next to Stan, an action which caused Stan to raise an eyebrow in surprise, as Kyle had never once shown any interest in his piano playing whatsoever.

"Go on."

"No one really knows Chopin's inspiration for his first Ballade, but many historians state that he was influenced by a Polish poem that mirrored the Russian Empire's oppression of his native Poland during the time when he was away in Vienna and dreadfully homesick. The piece introduces two themes, the first one..."

Stan then proceeded to play a few bars, a recurring motif that Kyle recognised from the very start of the music.

"...returns three times and serves as breaks between Chopin's other musical ideas. The fact that he managed to seamlessly weave this theme in with his other ideas is testament to his genius."

Kyle was pretty damn sure that Stan didn't actually know Chopin personally (his sharp mind indicated that the man would have to be about a hundred and seventy years old for such a meeting to occur), but his friend was speaking of the composer with such reverence that Kyle didn't want to comment on his plugging of the man's compositions.

"And the second theme…"

As Stan played a few remarkably simple bars of music, Kyle immediately felt the mesmerising quality that he had felt within the piece when Stan had played it earlier come back. Nodding his head enthusiastically, Kyle pointed at Stan's fingers on the ivory keys.

"That part, I like that part the best."

"Really?" Stan looked at Kyle in disbelief before beaming. "I thought I was the only one. That's my favourite part too."

"It's intimate and yet...transparently clear at the same time."

Stan had never felt happier upon hearing Kyle say that. The idea that one of his peers, let alone his best friend, was willing to partake in something that was regarded a little too snobby for their town of residence alongside him was nearly unthinkable. Before that day, Stan had thought that he'd be the only one willing to hear himself play aside from his mother.

"You're really talented, Stan."

"Kyle…"

"I mean it. I don't know why it's taken me so long to notice it, but I figure now's a good time as any. You're really, _really_ good. You're gonna be famous some day, Stan."

The blush on Stan's face was so red that he turned away from Kyle in embarrassment. Kyle grinned cheekily at his friend's flushed face and affectionately ruffled his hair.

"Is somebody shy that I called him talented?"

"Shut...shut up!"

"That's adorable, dude."

Stan growled a little under his breath before standing up from his seat and striding purposefully away from his friend in a mock hissy fit. As he folded his arms childishly and sat down on the floor, the sound of tinkling keys directed his attention back to his piano, only to be greeted to the sight of Kyle clumsily trying out the instrument.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to...play that nice part...but as you can see I'm nowhere near as talented as a certain somebody."

Kyle smiled back at his friend.

"Teach me?"

* * *

**Author's Note - **I'm not sure if you can tell from this chapter, but I really am a piano aficionado, espacially when it comes to Chopin. His first Ballade is one of my favourite pieces, in particular the meno mosso section which I described earlier as the few "remarkably simple bars of music".

There will be a few short chapters for the sake of flashbacks like this one as we proceed onwards with the story. I hope you enjoyed it, and my apologies for this being a a short one. I'll have chapter 4 up soon enough.

~SUITELIFEFAN


	4. Chapter 4

**Life Support - Chapter 4**

"Hello?"

"Hey Kyle, how's my favourite piece of hot Jew ass doing?"

Kyle grinned despite himself and shook his head absentmindedly at Kenny's quip, his familiar fake-flirting one of the few tiny aspects of his interactions with other people that he actually quietly looked forward to. To others, Kenny's blatant philandering would come off as inappropriate, but Kyle had endured enough years of facetious touching and glib-tongued beguilement for Kenny's behaviour to seem not unbecoming, but endearing.

"I'm fine, Ken. A little busy, actually. I'm right in the middle of another experimental trial, and thus far the results are less than satisfactory. I'm going to have to fix some the independent variables, and it's really going to be a pain to-"

Kyle was then cut off by an overly dramatic yawn, coupled with sleepy smacking of lips and an air of mockery that Kyle could almost hear from over the phone. Kyle rolled his eyes as he continued multitasking on his work computer, running datum through his self-crafted analysis software, feeling far too busy to be offended by Kenny's disinterest in his work.

"I didn't call you to be put to sleep by scientist talk, Kyley-B."

"Well, I'm really very busy, Kenny." Kyle pursed his lips as the software yielded a negative correlation, going against what his hypothesis had been at the start of his experiment. "I'm knee-deep in unsatisfactory work and dying at my computer right now, so unless you have something important to say, I would really appreciate that you call back later."

"Geez, Mister Scientist got his panties in a bunch because I made fun of his job?"

Kyle sighed.

"You give me a hard time over my job all the time, Kenny. I'm just really busy, that's all."

"I'll make this quick, then. You sir, Mister Kyle Broflovski, are cordially invited to an impromptu luncheon organised by yours truly and Leopold "Butters" Stotch. We will be over promptly at noon to fetch your distinguished posterior to our venue of choice, and may the lord have mercy on your soul should you still be working then."

Kenny's faux-British accent was so mortifyingly bad that Kyle couldn't help but stifle a laugh.

"Are you supposed to be a British aristocrat or a priest?"

"I'm an English nun, Mister Broflovski. Domineering disciplinarians with double Ds. Have you ever seen Sister Act?"

"No."

"You really should check it out, it's a great movie. Whoopi Goldberg's pretty good looking for her age, too-"

"Kenny."

"Right. Like I said, lunch at twelve with me and Butters. I won't take no for an answer."

"Where are we eating?"

"It's a surprise. You won't believe it."

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me."

Never in his life would Kyle have imagined the image in front of his eyes at that very moment. The situation was made all the more surreal with the presence of a nervously smiling Butters and the face-splitting grin on Kenny's face as they awaited his reaction to their surprise. In all honesty, he now didn't feel that comfortable at the prospect of having a supposedly casual lunch at this surprise location.

"No."

Butters' face fell a little, while Kenny's grin remained plastered on his face, as though he had been expecting Kyle's reaction.

The trio was standing in front of a newly opened restaurant, a building that Kyle had driven past for months since it had begun construction behind a secretive white curtain and never given it a second glance. The restaurant, now finished, stood out vibrantly against the South Park backdrop, it's colours of green and orange looking jarring and yet comfortable at the same time. One glance into its windows revealed a half-full dining room, a respectable-sized lunch crowd after considering that the restaurant had just opened.

It's sign screamed out a particularly memorable matronymic.

"I'm not going in there. No way."

"I thought you might say that."

Kyle then turned to glare into Kenny's bemused face.

"Then why the fuck are we here right now? I didn't even know that he had returned to South Park, and now you want me to subject myself to his shit again? I've spent many _comfortable_ years away from him, Kenny, I don't need to see him! And do you even remember what he did the last time he called his business _that_?!"

Kyle thrust an angry finger at the restaurant sign for emphasis. The memory of disgusting, albeit delicious burgers rushed into his head.

"I'm shocked, _shocked_, Kenny, that no one died of food poisoning after consuming those burgers. Do you have any idea how much mouthwash I used to rinse out my mouth after eating them?"

Kenny maintained a calm temperament, cool as a cucumber as usual.

"It's been a long time, Kyle. We're just as surprised as you are that he's back in town. Isn't there a small part of you that's curious to find out how he's been doing after all these years? I mean, the guy just vanished!"

"Yeah, Kyle, give the guy a chance. I haven't seen him in a long time, but geez, he had some nice qualities back when we were kids!"

"I don't care, guys. I didn't plan to see him again, and I don't want to touch any food he makes, so there."

"Kyle...you're either going inside that restaurant and ordering something yourself, or I'm going to manhandle you in."

Kyle's eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't dare."

Kenny grinned.

"You might have the fiery temper, Kyle, but I have the better physique and the superior size, as much as you'd hate to admit that you stopped growing taller when you turned fourteen."

Kyle blushed angrily and folded his arms, trying to look intimidating but only succeeding in drawing a chuckle from Kenny and a badly hidden smile from Butters, who was also, to Kyle's chagrin, much taller than him.

"That's adorable, you look like my baby cousin when he's denied a cookie."

"HEY!"

"And don't forget, Kyle, I can still give titty twisters and wedgies just as well as when we were kids. Don't think I'm not willing to hike Mister Scientist's briefs up over his head right here on the street."

* * *

"I hate you, Kenny, I really really do."

"What? I didn't get them over your head, it was just a tiny yank."

"THAT FUCKING HURT, JACKASS!"

"Kyle...people are staring."

"I think it's cute that you're still wearing tighty whities."

Kyle tried his best to glare a hole into Kenny's head, but to no avail. The seats in front of the restaurant tables were probably more comfortable than Kyle had imagined they would be, but the tingling in his behind from the spontaneous wedgie outside the restaurant and the underwear still lodged uncomfortably between his buttocks left Kyle with very little wiggle room for comfort. He unsuccessfully tried to fix his briefs without drawing attention to himself, but the task was proving to be near impossible.

He huffily stood from his seat.

"I'm going to the bathroom."

"Got your panties in a bunch?"

Kyle growled fiercely under his breath before storming off towards the washroom, trying to ignore Kenny's obvious laughter from behind him and the cringeworthy feeling of his underwear rubbing against him with every step he took.

Butters turned to Kenny once Kyle had left the table and frowned disapprovingly.

"That wasn't very nice. We invited him here, Ken. You're not being a very good host."

"Aw, come on, Butters. I was only trying to get him to come in. You and I both know that he's dying to know about Cartman as much as we are."

"You still didn't need to do that to him."

"It's so...tempting! Don't tell me you haven't imagined picking a small guy like Kyle up by his underwear before."

"Kenny."

It was rare that Butters wore his air of seriousness, but the disapproval was practically radiating off him in waves as he looked at Kenny with the most disappointed expression imaginable. There wasn't anybody else in the world who could put Kenny McCormick in his place with a single word as easily as Butters Stotch.

Kenny slouched in his seat.

"Fine. It won't happen again."

"And?"

Kenny rolled his eyes.

"...I'll apologise to him when he gets back."

"Good."

Just like that, the cloud of seriousness shrouding Butters' entire being vanished, giving way to cheery smiles and a brightened disposition.

Kyle returned from the bathroom after adjusting his underpants, sinking back down into his seat and pouting at the locker room-esque mistreatment he had just suffered at the hands of one of his few remaining friends. Butters threw Kenny a look, prompting an exaggerated sigh.

"Kyle, I'm sorry I wedged your undies halfway up your back-"

"They were up to my neck, jackass."

"Fine, up to your neck. I realise I could actually have hurt you. It was disrespectful of me and I regret ever doing it. I promise I will never do it again, and to make it up to you I would like to pay for your lunch today."

Kyle smiled despite himself at Kenny's comically stone-faced apology.

"Butters made you say that, didn't he?"

Butters squeakily excused himself and pranced off towards the washroom at Kyle's comment.

"Yeah...I meant it though."

"...Forget about it."

"You sure? I'll pay for your lunch, dude, I'll do it."

Kyle knew that Kenny, who had been in a precarious financial situation for pretty much the entirety of his life, was in no position to buy lunches that he couldn't afford for other people. He had in fact been prepared to foot the bill for their entire party of three if it was needed of him to do so. For him to allow Kenny to pay for his food when he was in a comparatively well-paying job seemed a little unethical and an absolute travesty.

"No, Kenny, don't. I'll take care of lunch. You can wedgie me as much as you want and I'll still be happy to pay for food, dude."

"Well, if you insist..."

Kenny made a suggestive move to grab at Kyle's pants again, only for the red headed Jew to shove his hands aside and snarl threateningly.

"That was a figure of speech, Kenny."

"Geez, lighten up, Kyle, I was only joking."

"I'll pay for lunch today. You can pay for my medical bill if I enter the hospital after contracting some food-borne disease from the food served in this place-HI!"

The premature appearance of a waitress at their table led to Kyle nearly shouting a greeting to try and brush past the fact that he had probably insulted her restaurant of employment within earshot. Kenny held back stifled chuckles as he watched Kyle struggle to maintain a smile, all the while nursing a rapidly reddening face.

The waitress either didn't notice his insult, or was merciful enough to pretend she didn't hear anything.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Welcome to Cartman Burger. May I take your order?

"One of our party isn't back from the washroom, so-"

"Hey fellas!"

"Okay, I stand corrected."

After their orders had been placed, Kyle took a moment to peruse the decor of the dining room they were in. He had expected Eric Cartman, if he ever went into the food business, to open a shady roadside diner serving dubious-looking fries and greasy steaks. The establishment he was in the midst of patronizing (an action which caused every fibre in his body to cry out in protest) contradicted his expectations in every way.

A quaint and tastefully decorated dining room. Well-mannered floor staff in proper, clean attire. An overall atmosphere of serenity and happy diners. The restaurant appeared to fit the bill for every pleasant experience that Kyle had had dining, limited as they were.

_Something's not right here_.

Kyle's internal danger alarm and paranoia indicated that there had to be a catch. For all they knew, Cartman was in the kitchen at that very moment spiking the plates that entered the dining room with salmonella or anthrax. The air conditioning in the dining room could have been tainted with gaseous toxins. Everyone in the kitchen could be speaking in German and saluting the Führer with every plate that got sent out.

His mouth rapidly drying up as his self-fueled anxiety grew, Kyle nervously looked around the dining room to spot for potential hazards.

"Would you calm the fuck down? There's nothing wrong with this place. Everything looks perfectly clean and safe."

"You don't know."

"He's grown up, Kyle. We all have. Let go your irrational fears and believe for once in your life that people are capable of change."

Kyle shot Kenny a glare.

"People are capable of change, Kenny. _Eric Cartman _is not. He is the most depraved, manipulative person I had ever known, and not once had he given me any kind of indication that he's able to turn over a new leaf. I don't see how he's going to prove me wrong today. I'm actually praying we don't get to see his face."

"Kyle-"

"Do you remember what he did the last time he called a business "Cartman Burger"? Fart-infused Burgers. Who the hell _does _that?"

Butters then did something that was relatively out of character and chimed in into the discussion, which was actually less of a discussion than a one-sided rant.

"Geez, Kyle, Eric did have some qualities that made him a good person."

Perhaps it was Butters' unparalleled tone of genuineity, or perhaps it was the fact that he had always stayed in the background every time Kyle got hot-headed about something, but Kyle exchanged scoffing at Butters' naiveity with a somewhat stunned silence as he listened to what his friend had to say.

"He can be awfully nice about things. Sure, he might have appeared like a mean ole' fella, but he was incredibly thoughtful, stood up for what he believed in, and never cared much for what other people thought of him. He might have been cruel as a child, but that's only because he didn't have a clue who his father was, and his mom was a crackwhore."

Kenny stared at Butters, mouth agape, as he struggled to digest what seemed to be the longest uninterrupted speech to come out from his mouth.

"You stick to your judgements for too long, Kyle. You're an absolute sweetheart to everyone who knows you, and you're warm and generous and all those nice things, and any girl would be lucky to have you. But you haven't seen ole' Eric in about eight years. Don't you think it's time that you gave him the benefit of the doubt and try his burgers without judgement? You won't know till you've tried them!"

Before Kyle could even begin to find his tongue, he was interrupted by a group of three smartly dressed waiters approaching their table with their food. As the plates were set down in front of them, the trio of diners stared down at their entrées, utterly flabbergasted by what they had received.

The head waiter lingered around their table to describe their dishes.

"Sir, your burger uses Kobe beef, garnished with smoked paprika, lightly caramalized bacon strips, and a generous sampling of lettuce and crunchy onions for texture. The chef has also added carefully portioned buttery avocado to enhance the richness of the burger."

"...I'm sorry, I think I'm getting a bit of an aneurysm."

"Sir, yours uses Andouille for its main meat, a spicy pork sausage fried with garlic and a balanced mix of Cajun seasoning. The chef has added toasty pecans for a bit of crunch, special sweet mayonnaise of his own creation, and a side of fresh apple slaw to counteract the spiciness of the meat."

"That sounds great!"

"And lastly, Sir, you ordered the Cartman Special. A beautiful patty of Kosher beef, sandwiched between pan-fried tomatoes, roasted pineapple, and topped with a spin on Eggs Benedict, namely a gently poached egg and a generous helping of Hollandaise."

Kyle stared at his burger, at a complete loss for words.

"I'll leave you gentlemen to your meal."

"Wait! I mean...why did the chef use Kosher beef for the Cartman Special?"

Kyle's question was rooted in genuine curiosity. As someone who had ripped on him for the entirety of their childhood for being Jewish, it seemed highly unlikely that Cartman would voluntarily use a Jewish food product for his signature burger.

The waiter answered the question professionally without skipping a beat.

"Our chef likes working with kosher beef as it uses more challenging cuts of meat as compared to the traditionally popular cuts at the hindquarters of the cow. Also, he finds the additional saltiness of Kosher beef to be quite palatable. I trust there's no issue? If there is I will be more than happy I request a non-kosher version of the burger from the kitchen."

Kyle swallowed.

"No...it's fine. Thank you."

A thin sliver of drool started to run down the side of Kenny's mouth. The only thing that was holding him back from tearing into the burger in front of him was Kyle's conflicted expression as he sank back in his seat, still incredulous at the entré that he had just received. Butters looked between his two companions, unsure of what to do next.

"Eat, guys. Don't worry about me. I just...need a moment."

Kenny needed no further invitation. At Kyle's words, he snatched up the burger from its plate and chomped voraciously into it, nearly losing a few of the bacon strips in the process. Butters picked up his own burger with much more grace before biting into it, his eyes lighting up with delight upon first contact.

"Ooo...it's spicy, but it's really good!"

"Holy shit, dudes..." Kenny nearly moaned as he paused his gluttonous massacre of his food. "The avocado's fucking melting onto the meat, the onions are crunchy just the way I like it, and everything else is just perfect. I think I've died and gone to burger heaven."

As he watched his friends tuck into their meals with vigour, Kyle could feel his stomach rumbling, no doubt a result of a tiny breakfast, a tough morning at the laboratory, and the visage of a preppy, delicious-looking burger staring back at him from his plate. Biting his lip hesitantly, Kyle slowly reached for the top piece of bun, which had been dressed with sesame seeds and left on the side of the plate. He placed the bun on top of the poached egg and pressed down. Yolk spilled outwards, streaming downwards and coating the rest of the burger, meat condiments and all, in yellowy goodness.

Both Butters and Kenny paused their chewing as they watched their friend take a big step towards accepting a part of his past back into his life.

Lifting the burger carefully from the plate, Kyle stared at it in wonderment as he contemplated how it's contents were miraculously staying in place despite the sheer volume of food resting between two comparatively tiny buns.

"Take a bite, Kyle, or I'm eating it myself."

Ignoring Kenny's comment, Kyle took in a deep breath before taking a small, tentative bite of the multiple layers. The sweetness from the pineapple hit his palate first, followed by a rush of pleasant sourness from the lemon in the Hollandaise and the bright red tomatoes. The egg, remarkably tasty and providing an unexpected layer of texture to the entire burger, coated itself to the roof of his mouth and enveloped the entirety of his experience. Throughout everything, the saltiness and savouriness of the kosher beef rang through, standing on its own impressively aside from the rest of the perfectly cooked condiments adorning the burger.

Kenny and Butters continued staring at their friend as they waited for his reaction. Kyle swallowed down his first bite before speaking in an uncharacteristically meek voice.

"It's delicious."

Whoops and cheers abounded from Kenny and Butters before they pressed their faces back into their own burgers greedily. Kyle felt a small smile growing on his face as he took another bite of his food, which was turning out to be the best burger he had ever eaten.

* * *

"Check please."

"Kyle, don't."

"We invited you here today, Kyle."

Kyle waved off his friends' exasperated expressions resolutely as he signalled for the bill. Since the start of his work at BioSPolis, Kyle had felt financially stable enough to afford to foot the bill at the rare lunches and dinners that the trio found themselves at. Kenny's odd-job hopping ensured that he was always struggling to even afford rent, whilst Butters was still gradually earning back what he had borrowed to open up his flower business.

He knew that Kenny in particular wasn't always comfortable with accepting charity, but Kyle had always been skilled in ensuring that he never felt subpar in his company.

"I told you, Ken. In about half an hour I'm going to be barfing my guts out on the pavement. Wait till you see the medical bill I'll be sending you. It'll far surpass the cost of this meal."

Kenny threw Kyle a grateful grin, which Kyle returned instantly.

"Shall we go? I need to be back in the lab soon. I've got cultures going and if I'm late, they're gonna overrun and I'll have to start from scratch."

"Aw shucks, I need to get back to the florist too. I've got a few orders in that I haven't settled yet."

"Let's go then."

Just as the trio were rising to their feet, a figure dressed in a white coat exited the kitchen, causing a slight racket as he opened the doors violently into the dining room. All eyes were drawn towards the large man as he fiercely beckoned to one of the kitchen helpers, who scurried to his side fearfully at his boss' command. The man spoke in a lowered, but still enraged tone of voice.

"Where the fuck are the tomatoes? I told you we were out a fucking hour ago!"

Only then did the man notice that he had corralled the attention of his entire dining room. Without missing a beat, the man rose to his full height and addressed the lunch crowd.

"My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. We're just experiencing a few supply issues with the kitchen, but they'll be settled in no time at all..."

The trio's eyes widened at the sight of a familiar face. If Kyle had been in any doubt that the strangely non-fat person was indeed who he thought he was, all said doubt was erased at the sound of his signature nasally voice.

"I trust everyone is enjoying their meals, and do tip the servers well if their service has been good."

At that very moment, the man caught Kyle's eyes, falling deathly silent as addressing the crowd became a mere afterthought. Kyle hurried to hide behind a much taller Kenny, only to be pushed back to the front of their small group by his self-designated shield.

"Dude...give this a chance."

Kyle looked back at his ex-arch nemesis' face nervously. The expression on Cartman's face was unreadable.

"Kyle Broflovski."

Kyle could only nod.

* * *

**Author's Note - **Going good, yes? I should think so. I have to admit, writing about food is one of my favourite guilty pleasures as an author.

Reviews greatly appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN


	5. Chapter 5

**Life Support - Chapter 5**

It was a good day.

Positive results that confirmed his hypothesis, a pat on the back from his reclusive superiors and a surprise bonus from BioSPolis in his monthly paycheck were three rare occurrences that never met paths, much like three parallel lines on a cartesian coordinate system. It seemed that the gods of probability had decided to bend the rules of mathematics just for that day, as all three occurred within the span of two hours for young scientist Kyle Broflovski. The trio of fortunate events were sufficient to break Kyle's usual cloak of mundanity that clouded his entire being from the moment he rose from bed, resulting in an added spring to his step as he continued mixing solutions in his personal workspace.

"I'm going to leave these lipoprotein solutions in the centrifuge. Hopefully I'll see good results with this batch as well. Kyle Broflovski, signing off for now at 11:30 on 28th July, 2018."

Humming to himself, Kyle switched off his audio recording device and slipped off his lab coat before exiting the laboratory. In a particularly good mood, Kyle even allowed himself the liberty to sing out loud.

"_I'm always working, slaving, everyday..._"

Waving to a few colleagues, Kyle slowly made his way to the facility cafeteria for a quick lunch, thoughts of a particularly sumptuous burger arising in his head. He knew that he was probably not going to get a culinary experience that could match what he had received from a certain new restaurant days ago, but the cafeteria's burger would at the very least be able to satisfy some of his cravings.

"_Gotta get a break from the same old, same old..._"

"Is that Poison? You have a nice singing voice, Kyle. Who knew?"

The unexpected compliment made him blush slightly, but Kyle had already gotten used to the sound of women's voices in his workplace to not be startled by the precipitous comment from over his shoulder. Turning his head to meet the well-meaningly brazen smile on Wendy's face, Kyle greeted his old friend and colleague with an affirmative response to her question.

"It is. I'm surprised that you know it. I thought I was the only one still listening to 80s rock in this day and age."

"Please, Kyle. I love old rock songs. It's way better than the trash on the radio nowadays."

The pair sat down at their usual table after collecting their food, Wendy settling for a fish and chip meal while Kyle attempted to placate his beefy urges with a cheeseburger. Upon biting into his food, his throat instantly filled with regret. The calibre of cafeteria food was nowhere near the impeccable experience he had had with the Cartman special just days ago. It had literally ruined all other burgers for him.

"Guess what. I ran into someone the other day while I was out for lunch with Kenny and Butters."

"Really? Who?"

"Eric Cartman."

Upon hearing the name of an old enemy, Wendy jaw fell, her fork half risen to her mouth with a piece of breaded dory still stuck onto its tines. If Kyle were not a gentleman, he would have laughed aloud at the comically unglamorous pose that Wendy was frozen in at that very moment.

"He's back?"

"Yeah. It was a massive shock to me too. He opened up this new restaurant not far away from here selling burgers."

"I can't believe it."

Kyle looked up from his substandard burger at Wendy, who looked considerably troubled by the revelation that the boy who had annoyed and tormented her was back in South Park. She had held her own during their many conflicts, much like Kyle, sometimes even exceeding his ability to put the bigot in his place with unmatched fists of fury. Kyle shuddered as he recalled a particularly nasty encounter between the two, one which resulted in Cartman lying bloodied and bruised in the school playground as Wendy dusted off her clothes and wiped his blood on the grass.

That day yielded a fight that was truly a sight to behold.

"Just when I thought things were looking up for our town, _he _had to come back."

Kyle, for the first time in his life, jumped to Cartman's defense.

"I've talked to him, Wendy. He's...changed."

"You talked to him?"

"I exchanged a few words with him the other day after lunch, before he had to get back into the kitchen. I don't really get it myself, but he's a lot more...even-tempered now."

Wendy scoffed at Kyle's words in disbelief before going on a sudden rant. Kyle felt a growing discomfort as Wendy started to speak about Cartman with fervor, her well-disguised fiery temper showing itself as her blood began to boil.

"I highly doubt that, Kyle. Don't you remember how he was like back then? All the groundless bigotry and going out of his own way to make people miserable. He went against everything I believed in and tried his best to step on my work whenever he could. I actually hated him, Kyle. I know it's a strong word, but he's probably the only person I actually did _hate_. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for whatever he did when we were younger. _God_, he was a jackass."

Kyle watched as Wendy shuffled pieces of over-fried potato around her plate, clearly still upset at the thought of her enemy's reappearance in her hometown.

"His burgers are fantastic."

Wendy made a callous shrug as she continued playing with her food, but Kyle could tell that she was merely feigning disinterest. As another childhood enemy of their favourite fatass, Kyle had admitted to himself a long time ago that Cartman's presence in his life, though a negative one, was still part and parcel of his entire being. It was probably the main reason why Kyle never really made any effort to convince Stan and Kenny to exclude Cartman from their quartet. Subconsciously, Kyle knew that Cartman, with his egotism and blatant intolerance towards racial groups, gave him another reason to live every day, and to take the effort to be the yang towards his yin.

That very fact explained why Kyle took it the hardest when Cartman disappeared from the town without warning. He remained as stoic as ever, wearing a mask of indifference towards their missing fourth member, but Kenny (Stan was already absent most of the time from their lives then) knew that Cartman's unexplained absence would change their friend. The friends never brought up the topic again after a few months, when it seemed that Cartman would never return for sure, but it remained a permanent elephant in the metaphorical room. Cartman had gone, and he had taken along a small part of Kyle.

Kyle somehow knew that Wendy had probably experienced the same thing he did, perhaps to not as great an extent.

"Really, Wendy, they're great. Let's go over there now."

"Are you crazy? I'm having a perfectly good lunch-"

"You mean the soggy fries and the overcooked fish? Give it a chance, Wendy. My treat."

* * *

Kyle never figured out how he managed to single-handedly convince an adamantly reluctant Wendy Testaburger to accompany him on a quest to seek out Cartman-made burgers for lunch, but he certainly didn't expect to find himself in the middle of one of the most uncomfortable situations that he'd ever experience in his life right that very day. He could feel himself trying to melt into the dining room furniture as dozens of eyes stared at his table, him wishing that he'd never made the decision to invite Wendy along in the first place.

In front of the table stood his hot-headed female colleague, who was looking pissed off beyond belief as she rose to her full height. Her aura would usually have been enough to completely dominate the atmosphere in the room, however she was somewhat overshadowed by the presence of Cartman himself, who had exited the kitchen in his chef whites not expecting to see his childhood nemesis. With his impressively large stature and folded arms, it seemed that there was no way to save the situation.

"I'm not serving you, Wendy, and that's final."

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm a paying customer, and you have no right to treat me this way!"

"It's my business, and I'm running it any way I damn well want. You are not tasting my food. Not now, not ever."

"Fine! I'm sure your food tastes like shit anyway! I'm _glad_ I freaking dodged a bullet today, you jackass!"

"You can criticize my cooking as much as you want, Wendy. Won't hurt my feelings."

"Screw you!"

Wendy snatched up her purse from the table, causing Kyle's jaw to drop. Quelling her rage as much as she could in the tense situation, Wendy mustered up sufficient composure to look at Kyle apologetically and speak to him before deciding to storm out of the restaurant.

"I'm really sorry Kyle, I just...I can't deal with this guy right now. I'll see you back at work."

She was gone before Kyle could even say a word.

"Shit..."

Cartman was now looking considerably embarrassed by the unwanted attention from his diners as he scratched the back of his head in chagrin.

"Damn...that got blown way out of proportion."

"I should...I should go after her..."

"Wait!"

Kyle reeled in surprise as Cartman placed a large hand on his shoulder, halting his movement.

"Do you have some time to spare? I want to talk to you."

"What? I should really go and chase down Wendy, she's really upset-"

"She said she'd see you back at work. Please, Kyle. It won't take long."

There was something in Cartman's eyes that told Kyle that what he wanted to say was pretty damn important. As much as Kyle wanted to chase down a fuming Wendy Testaburger and apologise (and potentially get chewed out) for the unsavory mealtime experience, Kyle couldn't help but feel curious regarding Cartman's eagerness to speak to him.

"I have about an hour before I need to get back. Where do you want to talk?"

That's the story of how Kyle found himself in the kitchen of Cartman Burger, sitting on an empty work station and feeling very out of place in the unfamiliar work environment. With his feet dangling off the edge of the countertop, he looked and felt like a child that one of the line cooks had brought in to work with him. Cartman continued with his prep work as he spoke, his seasoned hands seemingly undeterred by the presence of another set of eyes watching them work.

"I think I need to apologise for just now, Kyle. I've had my waiters looking out for you and Kenny and Butters after you dropped by that day so they could tell me when one of you were in the house-"

"Wait, you wanted us to come here again?"

"Sure. I mean, I wasn't expecting to see one, let alone three of you the last time we saw each other. At that moment I just wanted to run back into the kitchen and pretend our first meeting in years didn't go terribly awkwardly, y'know?"

Kyle watched as Cartman skillfully carved a pineapple into slices before popping them onto a grill, then gracefully crack four eggs into a bowl and start to whisk them.

"When my front of house staff walked in and told me that the red headed boy from before was back, I was just excited to come out to greet you. I certainly wasn't expecting to see Wendy here today."

In that instant, Kyle decided against confronting Cartman about his rude behavior towards Wendy, realising it would do more to add fuel to the fire than help the situation. That question could be asked at a later time when Cartman was calmer and not in the presence of sharp objects.

"I just wanted to talk. It's been way too long, Kyle. How have you been?"

"I'm working at the nearby science facility. Been working there for a while, ever since I graduated from college in the UK."

"You know, I would have guessed that you'd find a highly intellectual job after high school."

"You weren't there for most of it."

Cartman's working speed slowed down considerably at Kyle's words, as though he had been blindsided by the comment. As he looked up from the plate in front of him at Kyle, he spoke in a considerably quieter, more subdued tone of voice.

"I know."

Silence then instantly permeated the room, aside from the chatter of the kitchen staff and Cartman's steady dicing of his vegetables.

"Everyone was completely perplexed, Cartman. You just...disappeared suddenly, and without any warning. Do you have any idea how hard it was to deal with the disappearance of a friend? Sure, you treated me like shit in the past, but still…"

Cartman couldn't help but chuckle at Kyle subtle jab.

"What happened to you?"

* * *

Eric Cartman started his descent into the pits of hell on the day that his mother, Liane Cartman, his protector, was found comatose at a train station alone and without any of her belongings. Tests on her blood indicated that she had overdosed on heroin, her teenage son aware of her drug problem and the potential ramifications, but naively believing that she would pull through any life-threatening situation as long as he existed for her to look after. Cartman believed that even if the world did not revolve around him as he hoped, his mother's world did, at the very least.

Which was why when the doctors at another hospital in Colorado where Liane was warded, one closer to said train station than the single station passing through South Park, told him that it was unlikely that Liane would ever wake from her drug-induced coma, or at least not in the foreseeable future, Cartman felt _his_ entire world crash around him. The very idea of his mother not being around to fawn over him and protect him from the cruelties of the world was inconceivable. For the first time, Cartman realised that he, like every other living soul in the world, was vulnerable to the throes of fate.

Quietly, Cartman decided that without Liane's presence, he would have to try and start life anew. This, coupled with the growing guilt that had been gnawing at him ever since he became a teenager with regards to his blatant mistreatment of his so-called "friends" and his wasted potential, was enough for him to start making plans for the future. Plans without Liane. Plans without Kyle, Stan and Kenny. Plans without South Park.

The best way to start things fresh was to forget the past.

When Liane's condition rapidly deteriorated against the doctor's expectations, Cartman somehow knew that God was perhaps sending him a sign, one last push to let go. A final visit to the hospital, a rare and genuinely affectionate kiss and silent tears later, Cartman said goodbye to his mother and his life in South Park forever, leaving behind nothing but the house in which he grew up in and a few scattered belongings.

Liane Cartman would die a day later.

Eric Cartman would join the military.

South Park would wonder for a very long time where the viciously sociopathic boy disappeared to.

The military was a setting that represented the complete antithesis of Cartman, a setting in which he was forced to bow in submission to orders, where his free will was taken and his dignity shredded into a mere fragment of its original nature. It was exactly what an overweight, bigoted and self-absorbed person like Cartman needed. Within a year, Cartman shed off his excess weight and gained muscle. Within two he had developed new personality traits, though even time in the army could not completely erase the quietly arrogant air that shrouded Cartman's entire being.

It was during his time serving the country where Cartman was introduced to food preparation for the first time. The army had very little use for an obese seventeen-year-old, therefore posting him into an army kitchen whilst he trained up to lose his excess body fat. Cartman ended up finding an unexpected passion for cooking, instead of just eating, like he had done without restraint ever since he had learned how to talked and asked his mother for a cookie. There was just something in food preparation that allowed Cartman to exercise his intelligent brain via multitasking, whilst simultaneously blocking out all outer distractions, a problem that he had had for a very long time.

Still, the standards of army cooking were not the best. After much deliberation, Cartman left the military after two years of service and scoured the country for job openings in well-established restaurants. After three further years of making his bones under the management of other chefs, he was finally ready to strike it out on his own.

His decision to return to South Park, his hometown, was a difficult one. Cartman had left South Park to change himself and start life anew. There was something illogical about returning to the place from which he had tried to escape. However, he also knew that it was nearly impossible to pretend that his childhood did not exist. There remained too many loose ends that he had failed to tie up before he went away, and the newly reformed Eric Cartman now felt that he owed his friends an explanation at the very least.

The gravity of South Park pulled him towards him, and he didn't resist.

A couple of calls, a few contracts signed and a group of poached line cooks later, Cartman was finally ready to return to South Park.

The only problem was, he didn't know if his old friends wanted him there.

* * *

"I want to make amends for what I did, Kyle. I did a lot of horrible things when I was a kid, and I know I can probably never make up for what I did, but I'm sorry. I'll cook you a free burger every day for the rest of your life if that can get you to forgive me."

Kyle, smiling through tears, wiped his eyes hastily on his sleeve before chuckling lightly to himself.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I'm impressed you didn't make a Jew joke about free burgers."

"I might sometimes still have negative opinions about religions and races, and that characteristic might be permanently embedded in me, Kyle, but above all that, you're still my friend. I was blind to not appreciate that fact years ago."

"...I'm sorry about your mother."

Cartman waved a dismissive hand.

"Don't worry about it. She's been gone for years now, and honestly, she somewhat brought it upon herself with that kind of lifestyle. I still miss her sometimes, but nowadays...I just like to look forward towards the future, y'know?"

"And what does the future look like for Eric Cartman?"

Cartman smiled.

"Another restaurant. Then another. Then another. Eventually being big enough to open restaurants overseas. Once I get tired of it I'll build a massive live-in clubhouse back here in South Park, which the four of us can stay in and brings girls back home everyday. Five of us, if I can convince Stan to drop his piano thing."

Kyle's smile faltered a little at the mention of Stan's name, but recovered his composure quickly. A finished plate was then pushed into his hands, taking him by surprise. Kyle looked down to see an exact replica of the perfect burger that he had tasted days ago.

Cartman grinned back at Kyle's hungry eyes.

"You ordered the Cartman special, right?"

As Kyle plowed into the delicious burger and watched his friend work, he couldn't help but wonder about the change that had overtaken his old nemesis. The old Cartman was scheming, manipulative and downright cruel at times. This Cartman standing in front of him, working on ingredients skillfully but carefully, seemed downright docile. Despite aforementioned change, Kyle couldn't help but feel that the chef who had prepared his burger was still Cartman in his very essence.

Perhaps Butters wasn't completely wrong about his apparently existent good qualities.

There were so few moments in his childhood where Cartman had shown any sense of concern for his friends, so limited were they that he could probably count him on one hand. Perhaps the Cartman that he had seen during those rare moments was in fact the real Cartman.

Perhaps it was possible for the Nazi and the Jew to be proper friends.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- Personally I'm not a big fan with how I finished this chapter, but I'm having a bit of writer's block right now and am already pushing it a little, so I'm going to leave it as it is. I'm gonna tell you all this right now, the next chapter is going to be one big flashback. Hopefully you all don't mind that sort of thing.

Reviews appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN


	6. Chapter 6

**Life Support - Chapter 6**

_Flashback_

His surroundings appeared blurry from the moment he opened his eyes, and when coupled with the heaviness in chest made him feel as though he were stuck at the bottom of a swimming pool. Voices were fading in and out of his eardrums, the remnants of conversation that he could perceive sounding urgent and calm at the same time. He tried to raise his head, but the supreme amount of effort that the simple task required surprised him. As he tried to turn his body, pain ripped its way through his back, causing him to yell, tears instantly springing to his eyes.

"Gah! Shit!"

The voices ceased instantly. Seconds later, a warm hand was placed on his arm, the other gently turning him back to his original position. Kyle could roughly make out the muddled shape of a human figure standing next to where he was lying down, but the reason for his incapacitation was still a figurative and literal blur to him.

"Kyle, I want you to stay calm, alright? This might be confusing to you, but you were in an accident earlier today."

Kyle could hear the man's words, but they made no sense to him.

"What?"

"You have a pretty bad concussion, Kyle. It might be affecting your memory of the incident, and might be causing some drowsiness and blurred vision. If you _are _experiencing those symptoms, don't panic. You're in a hospital now, and you're safe. We're going to let you rest for a few hours before we check back on you, okay?"

Kyle could only nod weakly.

"There's a good boy."

As the doctor and his nurse walked away from his bed, Kyle could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, as though the doctor's words had been an instant sedative. Right before he passed out, he heard the sound of an anxious voice that he didn't really recognise conversing with the doctor just outside the room.

* * *

Kyle Broflovski, at 12 years of age, was hit by a speeding car whilst in the middle of a confrontation involving Judaism and Nazism. Engaging in a verbal battle with his archnemesis led to Kyle not realising that a totaled car was spinning out of control towards the sidewalk on which he was standing, completely oblivious to the incoming danger. Kyle was hit on his side and sent flying, the impact only cushioned by the presence of rose bushes in a nearby garden. Knocked out instantly, Kyle didn't see Eric Cartman's panicked expression as he was plucked from the bushes and laid down carefully on the ground. He didn't hear Cartman's frantic shouting at the emerging driver and desperate pleas to bystanders for a phone call to the hospital.

He didn't sense the abnormal air of panic from a boy who had seemingly dedicated his life to antagonising him.

As Kyle awoke from his slumber, it took a while for him to register the heaviness in his left leg and the throbbing in his head. Wincing a little at the sudden awareness of the bruises covering his lower body, Kyle turned his head slowly to his sides as the blurriness in his vision cleared up.

He saw Cartman sitting in a chair next to his bed, sound asleep.

The memory of the car crashing forcefully into him rushing back into his memory, Kyle shuddered involuntarily as he realised that he could easily have been killed in the accident. He then recalled that his parents had fatefully been away that weekend on a trip to Vermont, which explained their absence. Kyle wondered if they had even gotten the news of their son's accident. He wondered why Cartman was at his bedside, instead of his best friend. He wondered how it was possible for a bruise to hurt so damn bad.

As he struggled to shift himself into a more comfortable position, his tossing and turning of the sheets and blankets on the hospital bed caused Cartman to wake. As the fatass awoke from his slumber and realised that Kyle was conscious, he immediately rose to his feet, startling the injured boy.

"I'll get the doctor."

Four words and he was gone, moving and disappearing faster than Kyle had ever seen him.

Cartman returned shortly with the doctor at his side. After a few quick checks, the doctor proceeded to give Kyle a run-down of his injuries, a detailed description that didn't make him feel any better about himself.

"To sum things up, you're pretty hurt, Kyle. It's best if you rest here for a few days while we continue to monitor your condition. We've contacted your parents. They'll be here as soon as they can."

Knowing that there was no other alternative, Kyle weakly agreed with the doctor's recommendation.

The air in the room instantly turned deathly still the moment the doctor walked out of the door. Cartman remained standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, his toes pointed towards the door as though he wanted nothing more but to leave, but the rest of his body directed towards the single blank wall in the room, a zone of neutrality and perhaps, emptiness that allowed him to remain inside the room with its sole patient and still not converse with him. Kyle had never seen a more conflicted expression on Cartman's face in his life.

"Cartman? Are you okay?"

In normal circumstances, a simple enquiry like that would have provoked an angry outburst from the child bigot, a valiant attempt to appear steadfast and not at all weak, despite what he might have been feeling at any point of time. The response that Kyle got from Cartman however, floored him.

"I should be asking you that question, Jew."

Cartman's tone of voice was so submissive that Kyle was stunned into partial silence. It took a few seconds for Kyle to realise that that was the very first time Cartman had directly shown any concern for his wellbeing whatsoever, a revelation that further caused Kyle's tongue to fold up and lock itself onto the roof of his mouth, rendering him temporarily incapable of speech.

Did Cartman actually care?

The slight blush on Cartman's face was horribly mismatched with his facial expression, one that conveyed disbelief at his own interest in Kyle's physical health. Kyle desperately wanted to say something, but found himself at an utter loss of words. What do you say to a boy who had practically bullied you for the entirety of your collective childhoods, who was now standing in front of your bed, obviously concerned but trying not to appear so?

A series of questions formulated themselves in Kyle's head. He would sit up straight on the bed and ask about the accident, and what exactly happened during the time where he had lost consciousness. He would ask about why Cartman was here in the first place if he hated him so much. He would tell Cartman that there was nothing wrong with caring about each other even if they did dislike each other's guts, and that he appreciated his concern.

Just as Kyle was in the midst of carrying out the very first step in his planned series of questions, the simple action of sitting up straight proved to be too much for his broken and bruised body. The sharp pain that he had felt earlier before his slumber returned in full force, sending him gasping for breath, his entire body pushed back against the bed in an instinctive attempt to ease his torment. His throat let out a pained scream despite himself, and he realised to his horror and chagrin that he had started to sob uncontrollably, having never felt pain to this degree before.

What happened next was truly incredible.

Eric Cartman, infamous in the town of South Park for his advocacy of nazism and his disregard for people's lives, didn't take the golden opportunity to taunt his nemesis for breaking down like a little girl. Against all expectations, including his own, his first reaction was to take quick strides towards the hospital bed and place his hands on the hurt Jewish boy.

Kyle flinched. His hands were cold to the touch.

Slowly and tenderly, Cartman straightened Kyle's legs whilst keeping one hand against his back, shifting him back into his earlier resting position.

"Don't move. You'll get yourself hurt."

Kyle stared at Cartman through his tears in utter disbelief. Sighing heavily to himself, Cartman then drew his thumb across the bottom of Kyle's eyes, wiping away the thin trails of moisture that had emerged from them. Just as Kyle was about to start speaking, he caught Cartman's silent gaze, and stopped.

Cartman didn't want to be thanked.

There was no need for further words.

Without warning, the door to the hospital room burst open. Cartman instantly took his hands off Kyle and folded his arms, trying to appear nonchalant. A frantic Stan Marsh entered the room, followed closely behind by Kenny McCormick. The expression on his face was both fearful and thankful that his friend was still alive.

"Kyle...what the fuck happened?!"

As Stan and Kenny fussed over him, Kyle threw his fat friend, who was now trying to melt into the walls and appear invisible, a grateful look. It was greeted by overly exaggerated rolled eyes and a rude huff.

Kyle could only smile.

* * *

**Author's Note **\- Shortest chapter yet, I know. I don't think flashbacks have to be excessively long though. I decided to just use them as short glimpses in the past that be used as comparisons to the present.

We'll get back on track with the story in the next chapter.

Reviews appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN


	7. Chapter 7

**Life Support - Chapter 7**

It was finally the day of the concert.

Kyle had planned a long time for his solo excursion into Denver, a city that he was relatively impartial towards aside from the fact that his ex-super best friend was scheduled to hold one of his concerts there in his home state of Colorado for the very first time. A small part of Kyle wondered if Stan didn't hold it in South Park itself because of his presence, but he pushed aside the nagging doubt in favour of the idea that having a concert in a small hick town wouldn't make much sense in terms of attendance anyway.

So nervous was he with regards to attending the concert that Kyle took a day off work the Friday before the weekend just to pick out a decent set of clothes and reconsider if he actually wanted to see Stan for the first time in years. He had considering calling Kenny and inviting him along for moral support, but decided against it. Selfishly, he wanted the sight and sound of Stan to himself for just that one night.

He hadn't seen the boy in about seven years.

As he tightened the knot of the tie around his neck and stared into the mirror, he could almost feel his throat closing up at the sheer thought of seeing him again. Ironically, Stan had always been the one with the uncontrollable gag reflex, but Kyle felt very much like he could throw up at any moment. Taking a few deep calming breaths did nearly nothing to ease his tension and nausea, and after telling the churning in his stomach "fuck it", he threw his suit jacket over his shoulder, slipped on his black dress shoes, and stepped out the door.

In a night where vivid emotions were pretty much inevitable, its prelude, the afternoon, was about to become almost equivalently so. Locking the door to his house behind him, Kyle turned around, only to be blindsided by the sight of one of his few friends, Leopold Stotch, practically prancing up to his home with a bright smile on his face.

"Kyle! Boy oh boy, am I happy to see you!"

Kyle, wanting to sneak out of town unnoticed, was less happy seeing his friend at his doorstep at such an inconvenient time. Shifting uncomfortably in his nice clothes, Kyle plastered a smile on his face as he attempted to pacify his friend without drawing attention to his formal manner of dress, all the while making his way hastily to his car so that he could make a quick excuse and getaway when he found an opening.

"Butters. It's good to see you. What's up?"

"It's been a while since we've talked! How are you! I have some great news, boy oh boy will you be glad to hear it! That's an awfully nice set of clothes, are you going somewhere?"

"Er, yeah. Some distant relative of mine is having a wedding the town over."

Kyle was surprised by how quickly the lie came to him.

"That's nice! Anyway Kyle, I have something awesome to tell you!"

"That's great, Butters, but I'm in a bit of rush, so if you don't mind-"

"I'm dating Kenny now!"

Butters' statement was so startling that Kyle momentarily lost his grip on his suit jacket, barely saving it from a dirty encounter with the ground with his quick reflexes. He took in Butters' unwavering, excited expression, much like a teenage boy who had found his first love. He didn't imagine that Butters, the most happy of their trio of friends, could look _even happier_, but he was apparently wrong. His troubled thoughts of the upcoming concert vanished from his mind almost instantly as he tried to comprehend the sudden, unexpected development in his friends' lives.

"Wait...you're dating Kenny now?"

"Yep!"

"You finally told him how you felt?"

"I sure did!"

"And he felt the same way?"

"Well, he didn't actually say that...but he did say that he had also thought about it before and he's willing to give us a try!"

As he took in the staunch beam on Butters' face, Kyle couldn't help but feel a tad doubtful about the whole situation. His worries unconsciously carried forth into his facial expression, a countenance that did not go unnoticed by Butters', whose face fell a little.

"Kyle...is everything alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yes I'm fine. I'm fine! Wow, Butters...I'm really happy for you guys, really I am. Get over here, Mister Sunshine and Happiness."

Tossing his suit jacket onto the driver's seat of his car, Kyle grabbed an enthusiastic Butters and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"You've been waiting so long for this, Butters, and I'm glad you finally have what you want."

"Aw, shucks, Kyle." Butter started sniffling. "That really means a lot coming from you!"

"Kenny's a lucky guy."

Kyle truly meant what he said to Butters in that moment. Butters, their town's mascot for optimism and bliss, was honestly a genuine catch to any girl or boy who could successfully charm their way into his already content heart. Kenny McCormick was a lucky guy, for the sole reason that Butters had picked him ever since he had discovered his true sexuality, and had waited with endless patience for the day where his affections would be reciprocated. As far as Kyle and his definition of love was concerned, Kenny was the luckiest guy alive.

And yet, there was the issue of Kenny, notorious in South Park for his promiscuity and his flexible morals with regards to matters of the flesh. His indiscriminate selection of sexual partners could be attributed to his substandard upbringing and lack of parental control and guidance, but there was no denying the fact that Kenny loved getting his mojo on, usual with a varied pick of sexual partners at his beck and call, whether male or female. As much as he considered Kenny his friend, Kyle had strong doubts that Kenny had finally decided to settle down with a single partner and deny himself the opportunity to continue his wild bachelor lifestyle.

Kyle had so many things to say to Butters. He wanted to tell him to be careful and to not be overly smitten with the concept of a relationship with Kenny. He wanted to advise Butters to have a proper talk with Kenny about his intentions, and to ensure that the pair was now truly exclusive. He wanted to give Kenny a call and voice his concerns himself, for Butters' sake.

But as he stared at his watch and saw the seconds tick down to Stan's concert, Kyle forced everything out of his mind and set it aside for later. Kenny and Butters could wait, there being a far more pressing situation waiting for him in Denver in a few hours time. Gently separating himself from the tight hug, Kyle smiled off Butters' excitement and climbed into his vehicle. Promising that he would speak to him again when he returned from his friend's "wedding", Kyle started his drive in the direction of the city of Denver, Butters waving from the rear-view mirror till he was out of sight.

His mouth was already dry with nervous anticipation.

Kyle could never have imagined that his decision to put off his friend's lives in favor of a night of being in the same room as Stan would have any significant impact on anything whatsoever. Little did he know that the fates, cruel as they were, were simply waiting for one of them to slip up and force their group into a whirlwind of disaster. In this case, Kyle had momentary control of the ball before he forced it off the court.

Somebody would, as the fates gradually aligned, be punished for his mistake.

Kyle just didn't know it then.

* * *

"Sir, would you like a glass of champagne?"

Kyle immediately accepted the glass of sparkling wine from the waiter, barely remembering to thank him before he raised the glass to his lips and downed the drink. The waiter stared at the concert-goer's almost violent consumption of the champagne in mock horror and mild amusement before popping the cork to a new bottle and pouring out a fresh glass of the alcohol.

"Another, sir?"

Kyle blushed as he realised his uncouth behavior, sheepishly accepting the glass from the bemused waiter before walking away to find an isolated corner to hide in. The alcohol, a type frequently used for celebrations, was far too light and offered in far too small quantities to have any significant effect on his cognitive abilities. Though Kyle considered that to be a positive quality of champagne, in a night such as this, where his nerves were completely frazzled and he was tempted to dash out of the building, Kyle needed his senses to be dulled.

He tapped his feet anxiously on the ground whilst observing the concert patrons in attendance, desperate to find anything at all that would keep his mind off Stan. It appeared that he was the youngest person in the venue, the rest of Stan's supporters looking to be at the very least above the age of thirty. As he observed the crowd he caught snippets of trivial conversation about the state of traffic in Denver and the gradually improving weather. He heard some vague enthusiastic ramblings about expectations for the concert, and smiled quietly to himself. It seemed highly unlikely that anybody would be disappointed after tonight.

Then, the thought that Stan was in the very same building where he was currently popped into his head, sending him once again into mild panic, sweat gradually seeping out of the pores on his forehead and his back. Just as he was about to consider sneaking into the bar and stealing an entire bottle of strong alcohol, a concert attendant cleared his throat loudly before speaking to the concert attendees, his voice seemingly amplified by the acoustically advantageous construction of the musical venue.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the doors to the concert hall are now open. The concert itself will start promptly in about fifteen minutes. Do help yourselves to concert programmes at the door. Thank you."

Kyle's heart was pounding so loudly that he could feel his pulse ringing in his ears. As dignified patrons strolled past him and towards the doors to the concert hall, Kyle could almost feel himself growing roots on his feet, roots that penetrated his dress shoes and affixed him to the floor, rendering him incapable of forward movement.

He was, to put it in the appropriately dignified vocabulary of his fellow concert-goers that night, scared shitless.

Somehow, Kyle summoned sufficient courage to inch forwards to the doors of the hall, where he turned himself to face one of the attendants, who smiled warmly at him.

"A programme for you, sir?"

Nodding blankly, Kyle took the booklet from the man's hands. Instead of immediately tucking it under his arm and going ahead to find his seat like the rest of the audience, Kyle turned on his heel and strode right back in the direction where he had come, prompting confused frowns from both door attendants.

He couldn't do it.

Kyle was a steadfast, passionate, sometimes hot-headed guy. Much like Wendy Testaburger, he didn't like to show weakness to anybody at all, including himself. In that very moment, however, with the pressure of seeing Stan rapidly collapsing onto his shoulders with every minute that ticked down to the start of the concert, Kyle could feel his eyes welling up with tears and his palms getting clammier and clammier by the second. Barely resisting the urge to start blubbering like a baby and curling into the fetal position right there on the floor of one of the biggest concert venues in Denver, Kyle squeezed the concert programme into his pocket and ran towards the nearest washroom, ignoring the confused stares of the remaining few audience members who were taking their time with the champagne in the waiting area.

The washroom was mercifully empty. Kyle popped open the first stall he saw and shut the door, locking himself in the small cubicle. Finally in the confines of whitewashed isolation, Kyle collapsed onto the flush toilet and allowed the first tears of the evening to escape his eyelids. Hands covering his face to hide his misery from nobody at all, Kyle's whimpering gradually rose to a tragic bawl, the pain he had once felt from the friend he had quietly planned this trip to see breaking his heart for the umpteenth time.

He couldn't do it.

Kyle couldn't see Stan. If the idea of seeing him was already too much for him to bear, Kyle wasn't prepared to hear him play the piano again. He didn't want to be reminded of the times where he had shared in Stan's artistry, the times where he had placed his fingers on the same ivory keys that Stan had touched and fixed messy sheet music on the Marsh's family's upright piano's music stand. It could only serve to send him deeper into an emotional funk, and as a scientist who prided himself on objectivity and strictness of mind, Kyle just couldn't afford to risk it.

As he steadied his breath and finished crying his eyes out, he made a plan. Kyle would exit the cubicle, wash his face, get back to his car and drive back to South Park, maybe stopping to get something from Subway or some other fast food establishment. He would eat whatever he had purchased, get back on the road, drive home, take a shower and go to sleep, waking up the next day refreshed and ready for a good Sunday.

Which was what Kyle would have done if he had not felt the now crumpled programme booklet through his pants and extracted it, absent-mindedly flipping through his pages as he planned the rest of his night. As his fingers stopped on the centerfold of the admittedly well-designed programme, he felt his eyes being drawn downwards to its contents, which listed down the planned set-list for Stan's Denver concert.

A single item for the night, one that would not last more than eight minutes, stood out glaringly on the page.

Slowly, Kyle rose his feet and unlocked the cubicle door. Doing his best to clean up his face after his session of lonely crying, Kyle straightened his tie and his suit jacket before walking out of the washroom. As he strode towards the doors to the concert hall purposefully, he took in a deep breath before cramming the programme booklet back into his pocket, smiling to the door attendants and walking to his seat.

* * *

To state that the moment where Stan first appeared on stage that night was a typical, dull moment would be an exercise in futility. For a stage performer with a notable lack of body glitter, sequins and spandex on his person (like most other performers his age would have), Stanley Marsh looked good. Heck, he looked great. Dressed in a perfectly fitting black suit not unlike the one he had worn in his breakout performance in Carnegie Hall years ago, Stan commandeered triumphant applause by merely smiling confidently, albeit slightly shyly at the large audience, before he even took a seat on the piano chair.

Kyle felt as though all his breath had been knocked out of him when he set his eyes upon his friend. Stan's mere presence, coupled with his dramatic fluctuating emotions that night, was sending his cognitive ability into a tailspin. For a moment, Kyle felt as though he were the only person in that concert hall aside from Stan, ready to watch a concert planned solely for himself.

He loosened his tie slightly to aid his erratic breathing.

As Stan wordlessly took his seat at the concert grand piano, the hall fell silent, a seemingly collective intake of breath made by every single person in the audience as they awaited his first notes. Stan almost seemed to relish the undivided attention, taking his time to carefully unbutton his suit to allow for unrestricted movement and to adjust the height of his piano seat. He didn't have to adjust it much, as he had always been a relatively tall young adult.

And with that, the concert began.

Stan started the evening with a popular piece by one of the greatest early composers of the 20th century, Sergei Rachmaninoff. His careful choice, one of the composer's most popular Preludes from his Opus 23, was technical enough to sound impressive, yet subtle enough to ease the audience into the intended mood for the evening. The piece was short, lasting five minutes, but it served its purpose in its name, a simple prelude of great things to come. The audience applauded heartily at its end, still thirsting for more.

Stan's second selection was picked merely to tease the sufficiently restless audience, and it became clear to some of its more observant members that Stan was having a bit of fun at their expense. Throughout the conventionally lukewarm choice of Chopin's second Nocturne, Stan maintained a slightly cheeky demeanor as he taunted the audience with the simple piece, a far cry from the demonstrations of technical brilliance that he was known for. That being said, Stan still performed the piece as brightly as he could, drawing so much emotion out of the keys and so smoothly adding a couple of his own variations that the audience didn't feel cheated, but merely amused by the young man's musical antics.

The third piece, Franz Liszt's hugely popular piano transcription and variation on a theme by an equivalently famous violinist of his time, Niccolò Paganini, was chosen as a follow-up from Chopin's light Nocturne to instigate the largest possible emotional change in the audience. As the audience stared without blinking at the perfectly performed whirlwind of musical violence, and gasped at all the right moments, it became very clear to everyone in the room that Stanley Marsh was not only a great pianist, but was also brilliant at tempting his audiences. His performance of La Campanella left many breathless at its climax, and when it's final chords were struck the applause was deafening.

Kyle sat amidst the crowd, numb to the cheering that was happening around him, struggling to keep his composure as Stan continued to churn out piece after piece, not looking tired at the least.

The night plodded steadily on, every single audience member getting their money's worth as Stan demonstrated perfect fluency with his repertoire. His rendition of Beethoven's "Pathetique" Sonata was near flawless, as was his surprising inclusion of a sweet Allemande from a Bach Partita, an unconventional choice from the renowned young pianist considering his usual choices of Romantic era composers. When his fingers hopped gleefully into Liszt's Gnomenreigen, the mood of the room was so successfully heightened that it appeared to take a visceral, physical form, hovering near the ceiling and seemingly brightening up the room.

Finally, Stan started his venture into one of the final pieces for the evening. As two of his fingers, one on each hand, struck down simultaneously on C notes an octave apart, Kyle sat upright at his seat so quickly that it prompted surprised expressions from those in his closest vicinity.

It was starting.

Chopin's first Ballade.

As the first theme, the very same theme that returned three times and served as breaks between Chopin's other musical ideas, started to resonate through the concert hall, Kyle could feel himself shuddering, and he didn't know why. Stan's performance of the piece was far more polished than a decade before, but Kyle could still see himself back in the Marsh household, sitting down and watching his best friend attempt to play the hardest piece that he had ever attempted.

When Stan hit the Meno Mosso section, it was as though Kyle's heart had suddenly stopped, and the air had gone still. The second theme started, a few remarkably simple bars of music, and Kyle knew, he just _knew_, that his old friend was still in there somewhere.

Intimate, and yet transparently clear at the same time.

Euphoria and sadness clashed, sending Kyle into a spell of dizziness. As he clutched the front of his suit jacket in an attempt to still his aching heart, tears streamed freely from his eyes for the second time that night. Kyle didn't know if people were staring. He didn't care. He didn't care if he would go back to resenting Stan after that night. He didn't care about anything much else at all.

All he cared about was the fact that he was sitting in that concert hall right there in that moment, listening to Stan Marsh's perfect rendition of one of Frederic Chopin's most melancholic and masterful works. Nothing else seemed to matter.

For the first time in forever, Kyle was happy.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- I'm actually very happy with how this chapter turned out. This fanfic is turning out to be incredibly self-indulgent...I consider myself a classical music savant, and I'm always enjoyed partaking in it. All the pieces mentioned in this chapter are one hundred percent real, and are all masterworks in their own right. I urge you all to give some of them a listen.

Reviews appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN


	8. Chapter 8

**Life Support - Chapter 8**

If alcohol was Kyle's neural mistress, a seductress who enticed him and filled his head with numbing thoughts and temporary euphoria, the hangover the day after was undoubtedly Kyle's furious wife, causing him as much pain as she could before unloading shame and guilt into his brain's cocktail of messy emotions.

That was exactly how Kyle felt when he woke up, miraculously alone and in his own bed the morning after the concert in Denver, feeling considerably worse for wear. The champagne from the concert venue and the beer from the convenience store on his way back home had long been broken down by his grumbling liver, but the pain in his head still remained. Thanking Jehovah that it was Sunday, Kyle stumbled out of bed, this time remembering to leave the curtains shut to avoid a second lobotomy. Narrowing catching his balance after missing a step on the staircase down to his kitchen, Kyle dug around his kitchen cabinets to look for strong tea leaves.

If he was going to make it through the rest of the day, he definitely needed some sort of pick-me-up.

Despite the slight grogginess that he was still experiencing, no doubt lingering effects of the alcohol the night before, the heaviness that had been present in Kyle's mind before the concert had been somewhat replaced by a sudden onset of clarity in light of his drunkenly lowered inhibitions. His memory was as fresh as it possibly could be, and as Kyle remembered the promise that he had made himself during the drive back home last night, he stirred his tea faster before placing the cup to his lip and taking a tentative sip.

His silent attendance in the previous night's concert represented a final parting gift from Stan to him, one that the former had not known that he had given away, and one that Kyle had selfishly snatched away from Stan, enjoying one night of music before skulking away back to South Park to resume his life.

Closure.

It was what Kyle had been searching for for about seven years and yet never properly found. Their last encounter, alongside the last words that they exchanged before their extended time apart, went far less smoothly than Kyle would ever have wanted. He had imagined that he would be friends with Stan for life, seeing each other through life's milestones and finally retiring in some comfortably peaceful place with their respective spouses and families. He didn't anticipate that his idealised friendship would be cut short at age sixteen, with bitter words and tears.

Kyle could still remember that fateful day. It was raining, in accordance to cliche writer's imagery, the seat of his jeans and briefs slowly being soaked through as he sat on the pavement, the rain mixing with his tears as he continued to watch the general direction in which Stan's car had vanished for hours after he had already left. It had taken multiple urgent calls from his mother and little brother for him to stand up and walk home in the rain in complete misery.

The night where Stan had indefinitely walked out of Kyle's life was the same night where Kyle had began his downward spiral of distrust and voluntary solitude. He minimised contact with the rest of his friends to the bare minimum, only speaking to Kenny and Butters, and only for trivial subjects like school. Stan had taken his ability to trust other people with him when he had left, and as much as Kyle hated to admit it, he had probably hurt Kenny and Butters' feelings on multiple occasions when they had asked him out for video games or a meal. It was only because they were some of the nicest people he had ever known that they had never made a big deal out of it.

It took years for Kyle to be comfortable with sharing a meal with somebody aside from himself, and even then Stan's invisible presence would linger at the table, an unmentioned elephant in the room that Kyle never mentioned or wanted to hear about again. Eventually, after years of mourning over the death of a friendship, Kyle had to come to terms with the end of their relationship.

Stan wasn't coming back.

The previous night was, as Kyle had firmly convinced himself, the right decision. Seeing Stan so accomplished and happy on stage stirred new emotions in Kyle's chest. Not feelings of resentment, but those of acquiescence. It wasn't ideal, but it was acceptable.

It was just another thing that Kyle has to learn to deal with.

As Kyle finished off his tea and rinsed his cup, he checked his watch and, upon realising that he was running a little behind, snatched up his jacket and hurried out the front door, ready for another day at the facility.

* * *

It had taken months for Kyle's initial experimental design to come to fruition, but after weeks and weeks of slogging head on into the unknown, Kyle had finally completed his experiment. For once, going to work didn't mean putting on a lab coat and adjusting variables to suit hypotheses. Kyle merely sat down at his uncluttered and relatively unused desk, loaded up sheets of already processed data, and started working on his project report.

Working on essays and reports was something that most high school students couldn't wait to grow out of, but Kyle had always found something remarkably relaxing about the very concept of it. There was no better feeling than watching months of scattered work take shape in the form of a carefully worded and crafted report, and though he knew that practically no one else in his life agreed with such a notion, he was more than happy just using the idea of "work" to spend his time in the facility completely relaxed and doing what he does best.

As his mind started to drift away from his work, he couldn't help but recall an incident that had occurred on the day of the concert. In that completely emotion-driven night he had temporarily forgotten about it, but as clarity finally settled the incident jumped up at him as particularly significant and more than worthy of being addressed.

He picked up his phone and typed out a quick text message to a single recipient. As his phone buzzed a few minutes later, he checked it and saw a positive response.

It was thirty minutes to lunch time.

* * *

"Honestly, Ken, I have doubts about the whole situation with you and Butters."

Kenny, burger already half-raised to his mouth, froze upon hearing Kyle's words. Kyle could see Kenny's mind working furiously, perhaps even spotting a little indignation at the accusation by the way Kenny slowly placed his food back onto his plate and took in deep breaths. Kenny was rarely angry, but Kyle could already see hints of offense being taken by the glare that Kenny was starting to throw him.

"Doubts? What's there to doubt?"

For Butters' sake, he had to say it anyway.

"You've always been a free spirit, Kenny, and I've always admired that about you. But a few days ago, when Butters came up to me to tell me that he was _dating _you, I really didn't believe it. That kind of decision seems completely out of character-"

"What the fuck do you mean by that, Broflovski?"

Kenny's interjection was so violently defensive and angry that Kyle stopped short, his widened eyes meeting Kenny's furious ones. Kenny's reaction was a considerable overreaction to what amounted to merely a friend's concern, but Kyle decided against saying that. Aside from Eric Cartman in his bigotry-laden prime, Kyle had always disliked confrontation.

"It's a little bit funny to hear you call me by my last name-"

"Do you think I'm not good enough for Butters, or do you think it's ridiculous that I'm capable of having any form of affection for anybody beyond the level of a one-night-stand?"

"Kenny..."

"And that _free spirit_ thing. You don't have to soften your words for the sake of my pride, Kyle. If you want to say I'm a dirty manwhore, just fucking say it."

"I'm just stating my concerns, Ken. You don't have to get so defens-"

For a moment, a jerking motion from Kenny's hand made Kyle think that Kenny was going to smack him, causing him to flinch instinctively. Kenny raised an eyebrow at Kyle's expression of fear before realising the threatening motion, salvaging the situation by grabbing his burger with his single hand and biting into it voraciously, muttering into his food as he did.

"Of all the nerve..."

"Kenny, surely you understand my skepticism."

"I understand, Kyle. What I _don't_ understand is how you can't even look past what I was before and accept the fact that I actually want to look for stability for once!"

Kenny practically threw his burger back onto its plate before folding his arms and scowling at Kyle.

"I know I was a dirty whore-"

"Ken-"

"Don't patronise me. I _know_ what I was, and I'm willing to admit it. I was probably the most promiscuous guy our age that lived in the entire state, swinging to and fro between empty one night stands and impromptu back-alley hookups. But I haven't even brought up a single conquest in almost a year, Kyle. Have you not considered that? Do you know why?"

A sinking feeling of guilt arose in Kyle's stomach as he realised that he didn't recall having such a conversation with Kenny. Once again, his regrets over not paying enough attention to his friends and putting his work in favor of their lives were proving to be justified.

"I realised that I was leading an empty life months ago, Kyle. I've stopped all that. All the meaningless sex just wasn't doing it for me anymore. I spent months questioning what I was doing with my life, and I finally came to terms with the fact that I would eventually have to search for some sort of permanence. For the first time ever, I actually _wanted_ to be tied down to something, anything. And I've always known that Butters has had a little bit of a crush on me…"

Kyle was surprised by this revelation.

"You knew?"

"I thought everyone knew. And it was really obvious too, by the way. I spent the longest time just watching him go about his life and being so incredibly _nice_, and I realised what a great guy he was. I mean, when you consider how backwards South Park is, and in how negative an environment we grew up in, you can't help but wonder how Butters turned out the way he is now, all cheery and positive and all that. It really defies explanation, especially when you realise what a horrible home life he had growing up."

Kyle nodded in silent agreement, quietly contemplating Kenny's own home life and it's resultant demerits as well.

"He's an absolute angel, Kyle, and when I finally realised that I just wanted to spend more time with him...let's just say I'm actually capable of having my intentions known."

All indignation that Kenny felt at the start of their conversation had seemingly evaporated into thin air during his justification of their relationship, the orange-clad young man picking his burger up, reassembling it carefully and sticking it back into his mouth. Kyle still had a million questions to ask, but his questions were now merely curious musings as opposed to the friendship-risking queries that he had planned at the start of their meal in Cartman's restaurant. The pair shared a mercifully quiet and yet comfortable few minutes biting at their food, both waiting for the other to speak.

The silence would have turned awkward, if it weren't for the helpful interjection by the owner of that very restaurant.

"Sup, Jew. Po'boy."

Kyle, by now already used to having Cartman back in his life, albeit in a smaller degree compared to the past, brushed off the gentle stab at his religion as always and grinned at Cartman in greeting. Kenny merely rolled his eyes before flicking a pickle slice at Cartman, which Cartman caught skillfully in one hand before growling at the nonchalant young man.

"Dammit Kenny, don't fucking waste food. Especially not food that came out of my kitchen, you jackass."

"Pickles aren't food, Cartman. You're a really great chef and everything you make is great, except for pickles. They just suck, dude."

"If you didn't like pickles, why didn't you request to have them taken out? I'm pretty sure they were listed in the menu."

"I didn't want to disrupt your "artistic integrity", like you so nicely described to us the last time we ate here, fatass."

Kenny's mocking tone made Cartman's eyes narrow dangerously.

"...and you're cut off for eternity. Good luck getting anything out of my kitchen in the future, po'boy."

The crestfallen look on Kenny's face at the thought of never eating at Cartman Burger again was so genuinely sad that Kyle couldn't help but stifle a giggle. A quick glance at Cartman's facial expression told Kyle that the restaurant owner was only joking, as evidenced by a slight twinkle in his mischievous eyes and a slight upturn in the corner of his mouth. Being an arch-nemesis of the man when they were kids had taught Kyle how to read him like a book, a necessity when growing up with a nazi-obsessed sociopath who looked for every opportunity to make his life miserable.

It was amazing how well they got along now. Apparently all they needed was for Cartman to leave without warning and not show his face for a few years. Evidently absence did make the heart grow fonder.

Kenny threw Kyle one of his perfectly rehearsed "looks of abject tragedy" that he used to manipulate people. Kyle sighed before turning to Cartman, who had taken a seat at their table.

"Cartman, Kenny's giving me the look again. Could you please tell him that you were only joking and don't actually want to deprive him of food?"

Cartman shrugged.

"I suppose. It'd be good publicity for my restaurant if I fed the poor once in a while."

As he watched the two across the table bicker as though they were eight again, Kyle allowed himself a small smile as he consumed a Cartman Special, his go-to burger in that very restaurant. There was a long sought-after sense of familiarity that Kyle could pick up on as they sat as a trio at the table, and although the illusion of a present past wasn't perfect, he couldn't help but think what he had was already pretty damn good.

Kyle always had dreams of an ideal future, with a good career and a tightly knit group of friends. Of course, the very root of the word "ideal" indicated that things would almost never work out perfectly as he had intended. At the very least, Kyle had gotten half of what he had wanted. He indeed had a good career, one with reasonably positive prospects and a salary that allowed him to live comfortably and tide through unexpected financial storms.

His group of friends, however, was anything but tightly knit. Kyle was far too busy to spend as much time as he would have been able to back in school with Kenny and Butters, and something about them getting together in a proper relationship now told him that he would be seeing them to an even lesser frequency. Cartman's reappearance in his life was unexpected, but as much as they pretended that things were as good as they could be between them, there was always an unspoken unsettling feeling between the two of them, no doubt caused by old wounds that would probably never heal completely.

It was the tragic but pragmatic story of what his ideal had come to be, and as much as he wanted something better for himself, he knew that there was very little that he could change.

The only reasonable thing left to do was to just go along with the ride.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- There's just something about sentimentality and my writing style (that borders on the edge of clinicality) that makes chapters like these incredibly difficult for me to write. I've spent almost a month procrastinating on it and came up with a chapter that was still shorter than the last, and for that I apologise. It's just something I still need to work on as a writer.

This chapter, as tough and boring as it was for me to write, represents the mid-point of the story. The next chapter will bring in significant new events and a time-shift to help move the plot along.

Reviews appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN


	9. Chapter 9

**Life Support - Chapter 9**

_One Year Later_

Kyle felt his phone buzzing for the umpteenth time since the start of his presentation and cringed inwardly, whilst trying to maintain a calm exterior as the eyes of three elderly and distinguished university professors stared down at him from seats in the otherwise empty lecture room. The trio of assessors thankfully did not seem to realise Kyle's slight distress at his pocket's relentless buzzing, and as Kyle continued his perfectly rehearsed presentation the nagging thought that somebody might be trying to reach him for something incredibly urgent was starting to derail his thought processes. For a short moment, Kyle contemplated excusing himself for a few minutes to take the call.

The gravity of this particular presentation then dawned upon him, causing him to push the option completely out of his mind. His entire fucking doctorate depended on this very presentation, and there was no way he was going to compromise it by answering a goddamned phone call.

Kyle had worked long and hard for his research doctorate, a process that had proven to be challenging and mentally taxing in its entirety. Aside from weeks upon weeks of experimental work that eventually saw his thesis getting published in a peer-reviewed scientific journal, Kyle has had to appeal for a sponsorship from the UK Research Council to fund his doctorate. His alma mater, Imperial College London, had allowed him to continue his doctoral studies in the states, but aside from the convenience of being able to go home when he wished, their arrangements yielded little advantage.

It was the most academically challenging period of his life, and the fruits of his labor would only have a chance to emerge from his hard work _if _he nailed this presentation and sufficiently impressed his assessors.

Thus far, he seemed to be doing a good enough job. None of the assessors had fallen asleep just yet despite their advanced age, and he was already about seventy-five percent through with his presentation. All he needed to do was to just power through another ten minutes of material and he'd be free to leave and cuss down whichever inconsiderate person had tried to reach him in the middle of one of the most important events in his academic and professional career.

As he neared the end of the presentation, the full weight of what he was doing collapsed heavily upon his shoulders. Ever since he was a kid Kyle had dreamed of being a well regarded scientist who could change the world. It seemed like such a crazy dream back when he was an innocent eight-year-old living in the craziest town in America, but he was now actually in the process of transforming said dream into a reality. He took in a deep breath as he steeled himself for his concluding statements, smiling brightly as a wave of euphoria, marked by the likely finale of his own academic journey, washed over him.

"Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen."

The assessors had next to no questions for Kyle, an observation that would have caused Kyle to second guess himself if it weren't for the impressed looks on the old birds' faces and the knowledge that he couldn't have improved on his work or his delivery in any other way even if he had tried. If there was one defining characteristic that helped Kyle stand out from others his own age in South Park, it was that he was a relentlessly hard worker, and he was not only aware, but also proud of that fact.

Hands were shaken, and the assessors were then politely shown out of the lecture room.

Kyle breathed a massive sigh of relief, trying to rid his system of excess adrenaline from his prior nervousness by stretching alone in the empty lecture room, adding in a few skittish hops for good measure. Striding over to his laptop, he put it on standby before switching off the projector mounted on the ceiling. He then tucked the laptop under his arm and proceeded to walk towards the doors, whistling as he went.

Kyle then recalled the urgent buzzing of his phone in the middle of his presentation and groaned before extracting the device from his pocket.

Thirteen missed calls.

Kyle raised his brow at the almost comically large number of calls, wondering who had tried to contact him so many times in the span of an hour. His bemusement immediately turned to confusion when he realised that both Butters and Cartman had contributed to that figure. The sight on his phone's touchscreen was oddly unsettling. It wasn't unusual for Butters to call him up even if was just to have somebody to chat with, but Cartman, their reconciliation aside, never called him for any reason whatsoever. Their only point of contact since Cartman's return to South Park was his restaurant.

Deciding to call Butters first, Kyle tapped his number and held the phone to his ear, expecting Butters to pick up the call almost instantly. What he didn't expect, however, was to hear another voice, gravelly and nasal, on the line.

"Jew? Is that you?"

Kyle removed the phone from his ear to stare at its screen, wondering if he had dialed the wrong number.

"Cartman? What are you doing with Butters' phone?"

"Why the fuck didn't you pick up _your_ phone, dammit?!"

Cartland sounded incredibly agitated on the other end of the call. The ex-bigot hasn't shouted at him in years, a fact that made Kyle's stomach clench up in slight nervousness. The possibility that something might be seriously wrong seemed more evident with Cartman's anger practically radiating from his phone.

"Butters is fucking distraught right now and can't come to the phone. Get your ass into a car and get to Hell's Pass as soon as possible before I track down where you are and fucking drag you here."

Kyle could feel himself striding out of the lecture room and towards the university car park without consciously being aware of what his legs were doing.

"What the fuck is going on, Cartman?"

What Cartman said next made his blood run cold.

"It's Kenny. He just coughed up blood in my restaurant and passed out. Look, just...just fucking get here as soon as you can, alright? I'll fill you in when you get here."

* * *

The quivering ball of blond hair and tears wrapped in his arms felt incredibly foreign, an observation that Kyle clinically attributed to his own discomfort with physical contact and the fact that Butters was almost _always_ happy. Kyle had relied on Butters presence in the town as a reminder that it was possible to power through any problem with a smile, and seeing his friend in such a dismal state made Kyle feel somewhat lost, unsure of what to do aside from granting him a tight hug.

Cartman sat across them in the waiting room, and while he might have commented on the fagginess of what he was seeing in front of him in any other moment, the severity of the situation made any form of teasing, delivered in a joking manner or otherwise, wildly inappropriate.

Cartman instead settled on trying to ignore Butters' quiet sobbing in favor of telling Kyle what he had heard from the doctor who had attended to Kenny.

"I don't really remember everything he said, or understand everything-"

"It's alright. What do you know?"

"Something about fluid in his...plu-something? I don't remember what kind of fancy medical term he used, but he was talking about Kenny's chest and lungs, and he looked pretty grim..."

Kyle felt his heart sinking at Cartman's words. From what he could gather, the doctor had probably referred to Kenny's pleural cavity. Though Kyle had never even applied to medical school, his inquisitiveness as a teenager and incessant nerdiness had made him relatively well-versed with most topics of an academic and practical nature.

Pleural effusion, a person's pleural cavity filling up with excess fluid, was decidedly _not good_.

"The doctor said that he's already done a few x-rays on Po'boy's chest, and he just wants to do a few more tests on his bodily fluids. He said he's pretty sure about was wrong with him, but he doesn't want to tell us until he's absolutely sure."

Kyle frowned.

"He didn't tell you what he suspected?"

Butters, his cheeks stained with tears, then maneuvered his body beside Kyle's such that his mouth was free for talking. His voice emerged in broken whispers as he struggling to maintain his composure, a futile objective considering how it was already lost to the wind.

"He refused t-to jump to c-conclusions, didn't want to be r-responsible in case he got the diagnosis wrong or somethin'."

Butters then burrowed tearfully back into Kyle's embrace, the significantly smaller young man awkwardly rubbing his back as he tried to convey comfort despite the absence of his own. Cartman caught Kyle's noticeably grim expression, and ventured a question.

"You're the brainiest one out of all of us, Kyle. Any idea what's wrong with Kenny?"

Kyle hesitated. While he might have been comfortable confiding his concerns to Cartman in a one-on-one situation, having Kenny's partner in a sobbing mess pressed tightly against his chest made him make reconsiderations about the appropriateness of such a conversation.

"I don't...I don't want to jump to conclusions either. Kenny could be having a whole range of things-"

"Don't try that bullshit on me, Jew. I've known you long enough to know when you're lying about something. You're pretty damn sure about what he has and you just don't want to tell us."

Kyle glared back at Cartman while silently gesturing to Butters' shivering form.

"_It's not that_, I just don't want to make you guys _fearful_ for no reason..."

"God, please tell me what you think, Kyle! We've been here for hours and nobody is telling us anything. I'm about to storm into that room and seriously hurt somebody. _Please _tell me something, _anything_ so I don't do something I regret!"

Butters' eyes were wild, making him look absolutely alien to Kyle. The hands that had somehow found their way to his arms were now squeezing tightly in desperation, an action that was making a much smaller Kyle wince in pain. He breathed a sigh of relief when Cartman pulled Butters away from him, and gestured to the concerned receptionist at the waiting room counter that there was no problem. Butters trembled in Cartman's grip, his eyes seemingly staring deep into Kyle's soul, as though trying to draw an answer out of him. His mental state was precarious, and Kyle didn't want to upset him further, but to know that one's lover was lying on a hospital bed comatose and without awareness of what was plaguing him was a truly terrifying thing.

Kyle inhaled deeply, a little ashamed at having to ask questions that he should already know the answers to, if not for the fact that he had been so busy over the past few months that he couldn't find some time to hang out with his friends.

"Tell me as much as you can about Kenny. Has he been coughing a lot lately?"

"Y-yes. He's been coughing for about two months now. We thought it was just because of that new plant that got built in the town pollutin' the air and all that, y'know?"

"Has he been sleeping well? Lost any weight recently?"

Butters looked a bit unnerved by Kyle's seeming clairvoyance.

"Not at all, he's been waking up in the middle of the night in cold sweat. He's lost a whole bunch of weight too."

Cartman frowned as he heard what Butters was saying.

"Why the hell didn't you guys go to a doctor before today?"

Butters started wringing his hands in nervousness, a trait that he had supposedly outgrown as he was growing up.

"I wanted him to! I insisted that he go to see our physician, but he kept saying that doctors were expensive and that there was probably nothing wrong with him..."

Kyle swore under his breath. The affirmative answers that Butters was giving did not bode well for Kenny's diagnosis. His mind was already reeling in disbelief at what he believed Kenny was suffering from, the unlikelihood of such a disease manifesting in a young healthy adult and his desperation at proclaiming that Kenny was perfectly healthy clashing with the truth that lay in front of his eyes. Suddenly, Kyle knew why Kenny's doctor had gotten x-rays of his chest done. He knew why a blood sample had been taken, the reason likely being for culturing and microscopic analysis. Excess pleural fluid, night sweats, loss of weight and a relentless cough didn't match up with the majority of lung-related illnesses, with the exception of one particularly deadly and prominent one.

Tuberculosis.

Kyle didn't want to say _shit_. He didn't want to have to be the one to tell Butters that his boyfriend might just have one of the most potent and deadly lung diseases known to man. He wasn't a doctor, after all. He could very well be wrong about the whole thing. Kenny might just walk out of the examination room a little shaky on his feet, but otherwise fine and spouting crass and flirtatious sentences as he always has.

Kyle's brain didn't want to believe it, but his gut told him that he was right.

Fucking _Tuberculosis_.

* * *

Kyle gazed into the isolation ward, where Kenny was lying on a hospital bed, all sorts of wires and tubes attached to him and about half a dozen monitors at the side of his bed. The very picture of a sick Kenny McCormick seemed wrong to him, and as Kyle observed a gentle sheen of sweat coating the man-child's skin and his slightly paled skin beneath his smile, an invisible weight pressed down hard on his chest that made it hard for him to breathe.

A horribly ironic metaphor, considering Kenny's condition.

The isolation ward only allowed a maximum of one visitor at once, which meant that Butters could get some alone time with Kenny without anybody else in the room. Butters looked out of place himself, decked out in a full set of protective clothing, but it seemed that he was more than happy to be there for Kenny when he needed it. Something told Kyle that Butters wouldn't have minded any inconvenience whatsoever as long as he could spend time with his boyfriend.

Kyle bit his lip, which was now feeling raw from the workout it was getting after four consecutive hours in the hospital just worrying about Kenny. The doctor still had not gotten back to them about the true nature behind Kenny's condition, but if the mandated isolation ward was any indication, it was likely that the doctor had had the same fear that Kyle had. The name of the disease kept popping up in Kyle's head, and although Kyle tried to push it out of his mind it appeared to be permanently adhered to his brain. Watching the happy couple just talking in the isolation room made Kyle feel somewhat cold at the lie which he had told Butters.

"You seriously think that's what Kenny's got?"

Kyle turned his body to face Cartman, who was similarly standing at the glass and looking into it, just watching Kenny and Butters talk. Upon hitting puberty, Cartman had towered over Kyle, but right there in that hospital, the look of worry on his face seemed badly matched with his physical stature. Fifteen-year-old Kyle would have jumped at every opportunity to stay away from his fifteen-year-old nemesis, but ten years of separation had fixed that nervous itch of his.

"Yeah, I think so."

"You told Butters that it was pneumonia."

"I didn't want to be the one to tell him."

Cartman turned his head and gave Kyle a tentative look.

"That shit...it's pretty dangerous, right?"

Kyle sighed, folding his arms and staring back into the glass at his sick friend, who was trying his best to have a spirited conversation with his partner despite his obvious breathing difficulties.

"It's one of the biggest killers worldwide. Every year it takes about two millions lives. About one-third of the world's population are latent carriers of the bacterium that causes it, but kids, the elderly, and people with weak immune systems are particularly susceptible to a full-blown case of it. Healthy people are less susceptible."

"Kenny's a healthy young adult."

""Less Susceptible" doesn't mean that he's completely safe from it. There's always a possibility that Kenny's body failed to fight off the initial infection."

"...do you think he'll make it?"

Kyle bit his lip even harder.

"I'm not a doctor, Cartman."

The pair fell into silence for a moment as they pondered the implications of the sudden twist that the fates had thrown their friend. The thought of Kenny actually not making it out of this alive was now present, a massive elephant in the room that no one actually wanted to risk prodding for fear of sparking verbal doubts about the future. Kyle and Cartman silently agreed that silence was the best way to deal with the situation at this point, the point where Kenny's diagnosis was still unconfirmed by a licensed physician and where they could still pretend that things were going to be okay.

The tension was surprisingly broken by a lighthearted comment on Cartman's part.

"Technically...you _are_ going to be a doctor, right?"

Kyle jerked his head in Cartman's direction, completely surprised by the groundless question.

"Huh?"

Cartman flashed Kyle a small grin.

"A few months back, lunchtime, at my restaurant? You told me that you were working to finish up your doctorate, your thesis and presentations and all that, and wouldn't be coming round as often anymore, at least until they were finished. How's that going, by the way?"

Kyle was slightly touched that Cartman actually bothered to remember details from a light conversation that they had months ago. He felt another small stab of shame at not even remembering the fact that he had shared information about his own life with his friends. Kyle's claim that he wouldn't be going to Cartman's restaurant as often until his work was finished had turned out to be a half-truth, as the redhead had not even stepped into the premises of Cartman Burger for an entirety of four months, the day where they had the conversation being his latest visit to the restaurant. Cartman, however, didn't even seem to look offended by the fact that Kyle had not appeared to have a meal in so long.

"It's going...it's going good. Actually, I just finished it today."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That's why I didn't pick up your calls...I was in the middle of my final presentation to a bunch of old farts who flew down here from London."

"How did it go?"

Kyle smiled.

"I think it went really well. I think… I think I'm going to get it."

Cartman didn't say another word. Instead, he settled with grinning at Kyle and raising his clenched fist, an offered gesture of solidarity and congratulations. Kyle smirked appreciatively before bumping his fist against the chef's own, bumping a little harder than he normally would to try and make up for the fact that Cartman's hand was almost twice the size of his own.

The shift in conversation topic was a short break to ease themselves of the tension that had been built up throughout the afternoon. Even as the duo settled back into a significantly heavier mood, brought about by the hospital setting and their blonde friend lying in a bed in a soundproof, airtight room, Kyle couldn't help but feel that there was hope for Kenny just yet. There were so many things they still didn't know about what was happening, so many factors that could come into play that could change things for the better. Kyle knew that he had always been a pessimist, which perhaps explained why he immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion about Kenny's ailment. Cartman was right, healthy adults didn't usually get full-blown tuberculosis so easily, and Kenny had always been healthy.

Hope rose in his chest.

Little did Kyle know that the next twenty-four hours would dramatically affirm his fears, and send whatever hope he had mustered crashing back into the ground. Life was full of unexpected twists and turns, and the craziest town in the country definitely wasn't spared from the fact that fate could just one day decided to drop its pants and take a massive shit on the future.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- Was that last bit a little too much? Oh well.

As you might have noticed, I'm planning to ignore the fact that Kenny has ever died _at all_ back in the canonical South Park. It's such a tricky thing to work with and it just doesn't go with what I'm trying to do here with Life Support, so I'm tossing that out of the window for the rest of the story.

Reviews appreciated.

~SUITELIFEFAN


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